


Hand-Made

by nobleanchor



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2005977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobleanchor/pseuds/nobleanchor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gwen is a call center operator, Arthur is an annoying customer who won't stop calling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Promise you'll take care of it today, Arthur," he pleaded. "You know I've got to work, and you may as well do something useful while you're lying there like an overturned turtle."

Arthur gave his flatmate a look that he hoped sufficiently conveyed his lack of appreciation for the metaphor.

Merlin sighed, grabbing his backpack from the floor and turning toward the door. "Just this one thing, Arthur. Listen, you won't be able to look at porn…"

"I do _not_ look at porn!"

Rolling his eyes, Merlin tried for one last appeal. "If you can't send Uther his weekly report on whatever reason you've come up with for why you can't come into the office, you know it won't be long before he comes looking for a real excuse."

"I think a broken leg is sufficient, _Mer_ lin."

Giving up, Merlin swung his bag over his shoulder and made to leave. "Alright, but don't blame me when he comes around here to lecture you." He'd just let that one sit a while.

Arthur glared at the door in frustration after Merlin left. Much as he hated to admit it, Merlin was right. Arthur hated speaking to his father on the phone, the man wouldn't answer his texts, and the only way he could reach him with minimal engagement seemed to be by email.

Which tended to require an internet connection.

It wasn't _technically_ Arthur's fault. Sure, maybe their flat's living room was a bit small for kicking a football around on his knee, but he usually had good control.

It was just by chance that the ball had hit Merlin's glass pitcher of sun tea sitting on the windowsill, which had promptly smashed on the floor, gushing all over the router.

I mean who makes _sun tea_? In _England_? He had always known there was something off about Merlin.

In any case, they had been internet-less for over a week and a half, and Merlin had been spending the majority of the little free time he had outside of his hospital internship at the library, where he could depend on internet access.

Arthur, on the other hand, was stuck in the flat with a broken leg, once again thanks to Merlin's _sun tea_.

Well, he had meant to clean up the mess as soon as it happened, but just as he had determined to grab a towel from the kitchen, he'd slipped and jammed his leg against the radiator.

And here he was, probably looking like a complete tosser, sprawled out on the couch with only Merlin's terrible DVD collection for entertainment. He had at _least_ another week or two of this misery, and maybe more if he didn't care for it properly.

His main concern was avoiding Uther. Unfortunately the man never seemed to take the hint when Arthur neglected to "check in" with him, and Arthur knew it was entirely foreseeable that he might just drop in to check on his son, who would be a pathetically captive audience in his current state.

He supposed the one consolation to the whole ordeal was that he didn't have to go into the office to see the man himself. If he was being honest, he detested working under Uther. It was exhausting.

But neither did he want his father to know of his injury, or he was _positive_ he would indeed end up a captive audience to another lecture about irresponsibility.

And so, he supposed the solution was to fix the damned internet connection so that he could continue lying to his father about why he couldn't make it in.

Trouble was, he'd need the internet to get the company's contact information, wouldn't he?

Sighing in exasperation, he closed his eyes, starting to doze off. He scratched, annoyed, at the hair that was fluttering against his eyes and his forehead, reaching over to turn off the offending fan.

The fan that was conveniently propped on top of a stack of old phone books. God, did anyone ever use those things for what they were intended for anymore?

He might just be the last person.

Reaching out gingerly, he pulled the fan down off the stack and grabbed the first phonebook on top.

Hefting it onto his lap, he flipped through lazily, looking for the IT services section.

His eyes ran down the list of IT providers, searching for a familiar name. He couldn't remember what their service was, as Merlin had set it up. _Web- something,_ he thought.

Scanning down the list he found seemingly hundred of companies with similar names. _Come on, someone's_ got _to be a little more original_. He reached the bottom of the list without any bells ringing, then started at the top again in case he was missing something.

_Ah, Dominant Web Systems.  
_

He snorted when he recognized the name. He remembered thinking it sounded like some kind of S&M networking service.

Picking up his phone, he dialed the number, hoping it was current. Or maybe hoping that it wasn't, so that he could have the satisfaction of telling Merlin he'd at least tried.

Merlin wouldn't believe him anyway.

Somewhat disappointingly, he heard a ring, and then another, before an automatic message picked up.

"Thank you for calling Dominant Web Systems. Your call may be recorded for quality assurance purposes. Please hold for the next available operator."

A moment later, a polite but obviously fatigued male voice answered. "Dominant Web Systems, my name is Leon, how may I direct your call?"

"Uh…We've had a problem with our internet connection," he supplied dumbly.

"What kind of problem, sir?"

"Er…it's the equipment. The router? I think it's ruined."

"I'm sorry about that, sir. Would you mind holding while I transfer you to Equipment and Service?"

"Yeah, sure."

"One moment while I connect you, sir."

Arthur sighed, pulling the phone away from his ear as he was suddenly assaulted with 80's easy listening.

Two minutes passed, and he was just beginning to doze off again when a confident female voice shook him from his daze.

"Dominant Web Systems, this is Gwen speaking, how may I be of assistance?"

"Uhh…er," Arthur fumbled, pulling the phone to his ear once more. "Yes, we've had a problem with our router."

"Ok, what sort of problem, sir?"

"Er…it's ruined. It's not working."

"Ok, thank you sir. Have you tried rebooting it?"

Arthur glanced across the room at the sad state of the router. He was fairly confident that it could never be recovered, let alone turned on.

"I don't think that will be possible."

"Ok sir, I can place an order for a new router to replace the damaged one. Can I please have your account number? It should be located in the top righthand corner of your most recent bill."

 _Bill_? Arthur thought. He had no idea where Merlin kept that. He glanced over at the neat stack of papers near the entryway that he was reluctant to disturb for what Merlin might say. Then he glanced down at his immobile leg, realizing that he probably couldn't reach them without exacerbating his injury anyway.

"I don't have access to that. Can I give you a name?"

"That's fine, sir. We should be able to look it up. What is the name on the account?"

"Merlin Emrys."

"Ok sir, can you please spell that for me?" He obliged, listening to the soft clatter of her fingers on the keyboard as she entered his name into her system.

"Thank you, Mr. Emrys. Are you still living at 27 Hanover Road?"

"Ah…that's not me actually, I'm his flatmate, Arthur. But yes, that's the correct address."

"Alright Arthur, thank you for confirming that. Unfortunately we would have to put a charge on Mr. Emrys's account for the new equipment until the damaged equipment is returned, and we will need his authorization before we can put the order through."

"He's told me to call and sort this out, he'll have no problem with the charge, I'm sure."

"I understand, sir, but I'm afraid I'm not allowed to process any charges without the primary account holder's consent."

Arthur sighed in exasperation. Loath as he was to admit it, he was sort of hoping he could get this situation fixed without Merlin's intervention as a way of proving that he wasn't completely useless. Besides, he'd already done the research and made the call. He was invested.

"Look, Guinevere, it's just my flatmate's quite busy and he's asked me to sort this out for him. I'm a bit useless right now and it's sort of the least I can do. Can you help me out?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but—" She faltered and was suddenly silent.

"Hello?" Arthur prompted.

She cleared her throat. "…How did you know my name was Guinevere?"

Arthur didn't understand the relevance. "That's what it's short for, isn't it? Look, I'd really just like to get this all sorted so I don't have to hear him complain anymore. Are you sure there's nothing you can do for me?"

The woman was silent a moment, then he heard her exhale. "I'm very sorry, sir, but I'll need to verify Mr. Emrys's billing information before I can put this charge through."

Arthur was beyond frustrated, suddenly completely determined to see this task through and hopefully get Merlin off his back for good, and this woman was preventing him based on some ridiculous formality. "Yeah, right…well, thanks for nothing." He blurted out before he could contain his anger, and hung up on her.

Sighing, he threw his phone across the couch and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

Merlin would probably think he was making up some lame excuse. And Arthur would have to live with his disappointed glowering for months, he was sure.

Arthur decided to hatch a plan.

* * *

In her cubicle, Gwen Leodegrance ripped off her headset and cast it onto the desk in front of her, flipping her middle finger at it as if the arsehole who had just hung up on her would feel her rage.

She'd had enough of this for the day.

Running her hands coolly over her hair, tied back in a neat bun, she took a deep breath to compose herself. Glancing up at the camera mounted on the wall across the room, she sighed and gently replaced the headset over her ears.

Only two more hours of this bullshit and she'd be free of one of the most awful days she'd had in quite a while.

Just one more arsehole to add to the list of petulant, entitled customers she'd been fielding calls from all day.

She really hated this job, but she had little other choice.

A blinking green light caught her eye and she squared her shoulders, sitting up straight once again.

"Dominant Web Systems, this is Gwen speaking, how may I be of assistance?"


	2. Chapter 2

Anyone who talked to Gwen Leodegrance on the weekend knew she had a mouth like a sailor when she felt like it.

And aside from her elderly neighbor, no one was immune.

The fact was, by the time Saturday rolled around she was completely exhausted from talking all day in the same tightly phrased niceties and suggestions that she repeated to the dozens of customers she spoke with each day. And when she was constricted to said niceties for upwards of 50 hours a week, it was an immense relief to be able to articulate exactly what she was thinking. Or to not speak at all.

But Gwen wasn't the type of person who, in her everyday life, wouldn't speak up for the sake of propriety. She could be perfectly well-mannered when it suited her, but she wouldn't stand for being treated like she was inferior to someone.

For these reasons, Gwen could not have been more grateful that it was Friday. Soon enough, she could enjoy a weekend of (somewhat) work-free bliss, where she didn't have to talk to anyone she didn't want to.

_One more day_ , was her mantra as she clocked in that morning, putting her things in her locker and making her way to her pathetic little cubicle.

She didn't _always_ hate this job. There were plenty of customers who were nice enough and appreciative of her help, but the majority of the people who called her were already aggravated about something or other and usually chose to take it out on her.

At the end of the day, she'd shake it off and go home to her small flat. She found that a glass of wine and a crime drama were all she needed to unwind and forget about all the frustrating encounters she'd had with customers that day. There were always more arseholes in the world, but thankfully in most cases she only had to deal with each of them once.

Until today, that is.

Returning from her lunch break (usually spent on the park bench across from the call center, her little haven away from hell), she sighed and sat down at her desk to find the line lit up and awaiting her attention. _Four more hours_.

She picked up her headset, adjusting it slightly on her head, and cleared her throat as she patched the call through.

"Dominant Web Systems, this is Gwen speaking, how may I be of assistance?"

"Er, hello again. This is Arthur…I called yesterday."

"We receive a lot of calls every day, sir. Can you please tell me your account number?"

"It's under Merlin Emrys."

"Ah, it's _you_ —" Gwen caught herself before she could say anything nasty. She bit her tongue, wishing she could give this bloke a piece of her mind. She was fairly confident that nobody actually wasted their time listening to her interactions with customers, but she wasn't about to test that theory at the risk of incurring the wrath of her supervisor.

Clearing her throat again, she said, "Is there something else I can help you with, sir?"

"Can you do me a favor and just call me Arthur? The whole 'sir' thing reminds me of my father." Gwen could hear the distaste in his voice.

"Alright then, Arthur. How can I help you?"

"Well, I've got the card that Merlin used to set up our account, and I was thinking if I just give you the information, we can get this over with."

Gwen quickly scanned the notes on the account to remind herself what he needed. _Oh right_ , she thought, _he wants new equipment but he's not authorized to order it_.

Letting a small sigh escape her, she addressed him as patiently as she could, "I'm sorry Arthur, but we really need to hear from Mr. Emrys for legitimate authorization of this transaction."

She heard Arthur curse under his breath. "Yeah, I know, I just thought it was worth a try anyway."

She should have been satisfied at the defeat in his voice, but some miniscule part of her actually empathized with him. He sounded rather pathetic, and he clearly didn't know how to work the system.

Did she really want to help this guy?

Well, it _was_ Friday, and the man was being slightly more agreeable. It was almost worth keeping his call on for the sake of warding off the queue of less patient customers she surely had waiting on hold for her after she finished this call.

"If you have Mr. Emrys call back, I would be happy to assist with the transaction."

Arthur sighed in frustration, but he didn't seem angry at her. "Yes, I understand that. I just don't want to drag him into it or he'll never—"

" _Arthur_ ," she said slowly, deliberately. "I'm sure _Mr. Emrys_ is close by and _available._ If you would please just have _him_ call back for me, I'll see what I can do." She hoped he wasn't as dim as she thought he was, and that she didn't have to spell it out for him in more blatant terms that could potentially get her in trouble.

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the call, and then she heard him inhale sharply. "OH, _right_ , yes. I'll…I'll do that right away. I'll have him call you." She could practically hear the wink in his voice and she rolled her eyes, a small smile curving her lips at how daft he sounded.

"Thank you for your call, Arthur. I'll be waiting to hear from Mr. Emrys shortly."

"Thank _you,_ Guinevere." And with that, the call disconnected.

Gwen chuckled to herself, her spirits surprisingly lifted by the odd conversation. Then she was on to the next call, which was a simple order for service that she completed without any trouble.

Seeing a red light flashing, Gwen picked up the internal line. "Equipment and Service, Gwen."

"Hey Gwen, it's Leon. There's a guy on the line asking for you specifically."

Gwen rolled her eyes. She was one of three people in her department, and the youngest one at that. She was much faster at processing calls and therefore received the bulk of call traffic that came through Equipment and Service.

"Yeah, ok, put him through. Thanks, Leon."

Picking up the green line, she greeted the customer with her customary salutation.

"Hello there, _Gwen_ , did you say?" came the pathetically disguised voice of her favorite customer, Arthur. He'd pitched his voice slightly higher. _Idiot_ , Gwen thought as she smiled.

"Yes, this is Gwen. How can I help you today, sir?"

"Yes, I need to verify my billing information so that I can get a new router."

"Ok, sir, can I please have your account number?"

"Er…the account is under my name, Merlin Emrys."

Gwen asked him to spell it, just for show.

"Ok Mr. Emrys, can you please verify your card number?"

Arthur read out the numbers on the card.

"Thank you Mr. Emrys. Now, you should be receiving a charge of £20 on your card within the next 2-3 business days, but it will be refunded when the old equipment has been collected and assessed. Your new router will be delivered on Wednesday between 8am and 12pm, and the service agent will collect the damaged equipment then. Do you have any questions?"

"No," he said, his thinly disguised voice faltering for a moment, "I just want to say…thank you, Guinevere." He cleared his throat, making sure to pitch his voice higher again. "I know my flatmate, Arthur, can be a bit of a prat, and I just wanted to apologize for him. He's been having a rough time lately, and sometimes he takes it out on people who don't deserve it."

Gwen smiled to herself, a bit touched by his earnest apology. "It's no problem, Ar— _Mr. Emrys_. Please tell your flatmate that all is forgiven. I'm happy to be of assistance. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

He hesitated briefly. "No, no, that's it. Thank you again."

She didn't know what brought about this change of attitude, but she supposed small acts of kindness sometimes had profound effects on people. She knew _she_ appreciated it when someone went out of their way to help her for no particular reason.

"You're welcome, sir. Have a wonderful day."

Pulling her headset off her ears slightly, she massaged her temples and closed her eyes, hoping she hadn't just done something stupid. It wasn't like no one had cheated a bit before. She just hoped that nobody actually noticed. Leaning back in her chair and glancing around the room at the other cubicles, all she saw was a couple dozen people, just like her, busily keeping to themselves and assisting other customers. She listened for a moment, but all she heard were the same niceties she exchanged with customers overlapping as her colleagues facilitated their calls.

Nobody really cared, she concluded. _Well_ , _at least it was entertaining for a moment_. She snorted to herself as it occurred to her that Arthur probably fancied himself rather clever.

"Break time, is it?" her heart dropped into her stomach as she heard the unmistakable disapproving drawl of her supervisor, and immediately sat up straight, turning to see Agravaine peering down at her over the short wall of her cubicle.

"Just stretching a bit, sir," she offered a tight-lipped smile.

"Good then, back to work." And with a leery look back at her, he turned to go harass one of his other employees.

Gwen sighed, widening her eyes slightly at her screen in annoyance, and turned to accept the next call. _Three hours and fifteen more minutes until freedom._

* * *

Merlin returned home to find his flatmate with an uncharacteristically cheerful expression on his face, pausing the TV and turning to him expectantly.

"Long, arduous day of soap watching?" Merlin asked, setting down his bag and immediately making for the fridge.

"I don't _enjoy_ being a gimp," Arthur retorted. "And anyway," he continued dramatically, "what's the point of going out into that great big world if I have to compete against all the handsome blokes like you?" Arthur nodded at Merlin, indicating his mussed up hair and somewhat unflattering outfit of oversized blue scrubs hanging on his tall, lanky form. He obviously hadn't had a decent night's sleep, or a shower for that matter, in too long.

Merlin made a face and turned his attention back to looking for his afternoon snack. "Have you done _anything_ today?" he asked into the fridge, digging behind Arthur's prolific collection of milk cartons.

Ah, just what Arthur had been waiting for. "In _fact_ ," he said rather smugly, "I sorted out our internet problem. We're getting a new router on Wednesday and they're taking the old one away."

Merlin closed the fridge, an assortment of fruits and cheeses (all Merlin's, of course) cradled in the crook of his arm. "Congratulations, mate, " he said with mock pride, clapping Arthur on the shoulder with his free hand. "Welcome to the world of adulthood. Rewarding, isn't it?"

And with that, Merlin disappeared into his room, shutting the door behind him.

Arthur didn't know what he'd been expecting, but apparently it was something different from _that_. Well, at least _he_ knew he wasn't entirely useless in this state. Pulling Merlin's debit card out of his pocket, he slipped it back into Merlin's wallet and set it back on the kitchen table.

He supposed he'd set himself up for disappointment, anyway. What was he doing trying to impress _Merlin_ , of all people?

_Christ_ , he thought, _I need a hobby._


	3. Chapter 3

"Merlin? Merlin!"

Merlin emerged from his cave of solitude, tracing Arthur's whiny call back to the living room. Arthur had taken the liberty to claim the space as his own since his injury.

"Oh good, you're here! Have you got anything else? I never thought I'd say this, but I've watched your entire DVD collection."

Merlin just stared blankly at Arthur, willing him to disappear.

"Come on, I know you've got something for me." Arthur made his signature pouting face, and Merlin wondered if he actually still thought it worked on him, or if he just enjoyed being as annoying as possible.

"Put that away, Arthur, it won't get you anywhere. Besides…" he sighed, turning to his backpack to dig around and pull something from the bottom. "You don't deserve this," he declared, tossing something into Arthur's lap.

" _The Empire Strikes Back._ " Arthur beamed. Then, in the dreamiest voice he could muster, " _How did you know_?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, snatching the DVD back from Arthur's hands and putting the disc on before he returned to the couch, shoving Arthur over to make room for himself.

Arthur pretended to be disgruntled, but he was secretly pleased that his flatmate was joining him. With Merlin out of the flat so often lately, and Arthur practically immobile with a full leg cast and no lift in their building, he had become lonely for the first time in his life. Being an involuntary shut-in meant being alone with himself more than he was used to, and it was beginning to make him uncomfortable.

But despite how much he enjoyed irritating Merlin, he knew his flatmate worked harder than anyone else he knew. Ever since Merlin had started his internship, Arthur had tried to give him a bit of a break when he came home from a long shift, sensing his exhaustion.

And it was times like these, as he peered sidelong at his flatmate, beer in hand, already absorbed in a movie Arthur had made him watch too many times to count, that Arthur was reminded of how much his best friend meant to him.

A banging on the door jarred him from his musings, and Arthur glanced over in apprehension. There was only one person that could be; he'd bet his life on it. It only took a moment of silent communication as Arthur met Merlin's gaze frantically, and his flatmate was up, quickly scrounging up a thick blanket to cast over Arthur's lower half and thrusting Arthur's crutches under the couch.

He gave Arthur one last sympathetic look over his shoulder before straightening his shirt and going to answer the door. Assuming a surprised expression, Merlin swung the door open to greet Uther.

"Ah, Emrys," he addressed Merlin pleasantly enough. "I trust Arthur is hiding out somewhere?"

"I'm not hiding, father," came Arthur's response before Merlin could open his mouth.

Uther winked at Merlin before sweeping past him to find his son in the living room. "So this is where you've been? Lazing about in your flat? Arthur, you know we need you."

Arthur dropped his head back, sighing dramatically. "Father, I can't right now, I'm—"

"What is it this time, Arthur? What's more important?" he implored, and Arthur sensed he was on fragile footing.

"I need a break, that's all." _I've already had one too many_ , he contradicted himself mentally.

"Arthur, we've been over this. You can't just drop off the face of the earth whenever you feel like it. We've a business to run, and I'm not always going to be around to keep it running for you. I know you're starting to get the hang of it. You cannot give up now." Uther's voice was becoming increasingly stern.

"Look, I just can't do this right now," he repeated helplessly, not knowing what else to say. He'd used every excuse he could dream up in the past, but it was much easier to lie with the dispassionate barrier of technology between them. "I'll…I'll be back, I just need to get some…things…sorted first."

He thought he spotted a hint of resignation in his father's expression, but then a firm resolve took hold.

"Well, if that's what you want," he started ominously, leaning down toward Arthur's wallet that rested on his crumpled sweatshirt on the floor, "then you won't be needing—"

Arthur lunged forward to intercept him, scrabbling for his wallet before Uther could reach it, clutching it possessively.

"I'm not going to—" Uther reeled backwards, stilling abruptly as he appraised his son. A look akin to worry ghosted over his father's face before it began to redden in anger.

Arthur's heart sank. He didn't need to look down to know that his plastered leg was fully exposed.

 _Fuck_ , he thought. _Here we go_.

* * *

Arthur awoke to an incessant tapping at the door. He didn't know how long it had been going for, but it must have taken him at least a minute to rouse his consciousness from its deep, whisky-induced slumber.

God, he felt like shit.

His only relief was that he knew it couldn't be Uther again. His father usually lapsed into the silent treatment after the explosive "you're completely irresponsible, how can I trust you with anything if you can't even take care of yourself" lecture. And anyway, Uther wouldn't have confiscated his access badge if he was interested in seeing him again so soon.

Rolling over sluggishly, he barely caught himself before he might have toppled onto the floor. He threw back the tangle of sheets and the quilted down duvet, swinging his good leg to the floor to bring himself shakily upright.

"Alright, Alright! I'm coming!" he shouted, making no attempt to mask the contempt he held for whoever had decided to disturb him at this ungodly hour. He grabbed hold of his crutches and stumbled clumsily toward his bedroom door, checking his alarm clock quickly to assess the severity of the injustice.

_9:53._

He shook his head indignantly. _Bloody neighbors probably come to accuse me of stealing the papers again_ , he thought, feeling something sticky clinging to his bare foot. Balancing awkwardly between his crutches, he managed to lift his foot briefly to remove a bright orange post it note with the phrase "Web dominatrix 8-10" scrawled in his own messy handwriting.

 _Oh, right_. Though he wasn't sure he remembered writing it in the first place. Or how he had gotten into his bed the night before.

Moving with purpose now, he made his way to the front door and pulled it open, admitting a taciturn serviceman named Harry, if his name tag was to be believed.

The man mumbled briefly before flitting over to the tangle of wires where the destroyed equipment was nestled, pulling it free and replacing it with an identical though somewhat less worse for wear version. Arthur looked on helplessly as the man continued to ignore him, now scribbling industriously at his clipboard. Apparently finished with his task, he thrust the clipboard and pen toward Arthur, who limped awkwardly to a spot where he could lean his weight against the wall while he signed the paper. Returning the clipboard to the man, he received a crumpled carbon copy of his service receipt, and watched wordlessly as the man escorted himself out.

Arthur collapsed on the couch, slightly bewildered by the exchange. _Talk about customer service_.

He slumped over, slipping gratefully back to sleep.

Some time later, Arthur awoke once more to the buzz of his phone vibrating against the kitchen counter. Groaning again, he dragged himself up and snatched it, a vaguely familiar number flashing on the screen.

 _Doctor's Office?_ It was his best guess.

"Hello?"

He was greeted by an automated message prompting him to take a service call survey. He was half a second from hanging up when he heard the name Dominant Web Systems.

Maybe he was angry, or bored, or just didn't have anything else to do, but he thought he'd have a go and see how old Harry felt about his service rating. He half-listened to the prompts as he punched in consistently low scores, lazily alternating between twos and threes until he suddenly heard the ring of a call connecting. Before he could bring himself out of his hangover haze to hang up the call, he heard a familiar live feminine voice greeting him.

"Dominant Web Systems, this is Gwen, how may I be of assistance?"

"Gwen? I didn't…uh, this is Arthur. I've just had my router replaced," he mumbled.

"That's great, Arthur, thank you for calling to let us know." He thought he heard a smile of recognition in her voice, but he was probably imagining it.

"Oh, actually I just got this survey call and I was—" He stopped when he heard a chuckle, poorly disguised by a delicate cough. "Er…I was…"

"Did you accidentally press 3 to transfer yourself to Equipment and Service?"

"Oh," he felt stupid now, "yes, I suppose I must have. Sorry, I had a long night and I'm not sure if I've completely woken yet."

She laughed openly now, and he found himself pleased by the sound of it.

"It's no problem, Arthur, I completely understand."

He might have ended the conversation there, but he felt compelled to continue in the hopes of hearing her laugh again.

"You know, your service guy kind of left me hanging."

"Oh?" she sounded curious, "Was there a problem? I thought you said it was all working now."

"Well it is, I suppose. But I felt like an idiot, standing here in my pants while he puttered around my flat, and he barely said ten words to me!"

He was rewarded by a joyful giggle for the scene he'd painted her in his mock indignation, and it brought a genuine smile to his face, even as his headache pounded mercilessly.

"It was Harry, then?"

"Yes! That's the bloke. Serviced my equipment and left me in my pants without so much as a phone number." He could keep this going, he thought, just to hear her laugh like that.

"I'm afraid he's a serial charmer, and you might not be the last," she supplied indulgently.

Arthur chuckled in response, leaning his head back against the couch and gazing toward the brightly lit window. "Ughhh," he quickly diverted his gaze as his chuckle degenerated into an involuntarily moan at the pain piercing his head.

"Arthur?" she seemed concerned, her voice suddenly devoid of the levity it had held only a moment before.

"Yes, sorry?"

"Lots of Gatorade."

"What?"

"Gatorade. It'll rehydrate you and stop the headache in no time."

"How did you—" he started, baffled by her perceptiveness.

"I've been there," the teasing tone returning to her warm voice. "I know exactly how you're feeling now. Believe me. Lots of Gatorade, shut the curtains, and the world doesn't exist."

He liked the sound of that. "A wise woman you are, Guinevere."

"Good luck, Arthur," she wished him sympathetically, and this time he couldn't mistake the smile in her voice.


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm sorry, my what?"

As her current customer repeated the question, Gwen took the moment to devise the most effective answer.

"Clogs," she supplied after a moment, hoping it would work.

She was rewarded with a muffled curse and a click of the call disconnecting, and she grinned, congratulating herself.

Closing her eyes and leaning back for a moment, she felt a pair of familiar strong hands grip her shoulders from behind and begin to massage them gently.

"Paterson again?" Gwaine's voice came from somewhere above her.

Gwen nodded, refusing to open her eyes for a few more moments, trying to find her inner zen to keep her going.

"Does he know there are other women who work here?"

"Apparently not. He always seems to get through to me, says he's someone else even though we've got his number IDed, and then he spends the rest of the time asking me inane questions that just become creepier and creepier. He's always asking me what type of shoes I'm wearing and am I crossing my feet."

"Gwen, I told you, next time he calls transfer him to me. I'd love to fuck with him."

Gwen swiveled around in her chair to face her colleague, his long, well-built frame leaning against the desk opposite hers. "You'll get in trouble, it's not worth it. And anyway, I'm getting better at fobbing him off."

"Oh come on, I've not had one mark against me since I've been here."

"That's because you cheat!" she laughed. Gwaine was always muting his calls instead of placing customers on hold. Not only did it allow him to vent all manner of colorful phrases about the present customer he was assisting, but it also conveniently skewed his hold time record, giving him one of the best ratings in the office for minimal customer hold time. "You're exceptionally lucky they haven't been monitoring your calls or I'm sure they'd dock you for all the dead air. It's only a matter of time."

Gwen was careful to only use her mute function when she had to cough or sneeze, like she'd been trained, and she usually waited for a moment when the customer was in the middle of a rant so they wouldn't notice the momentary silence on her end. The background noise in the call center wasn't distracting, but its absence wouldn't necessarily go unnoticed. Gwaine had lost more than a few calls to customers who thought he'd hung up on them. Lucky for him, he was also inexplicably the best salesman in the call center, so his dropped calls went unnoticed.

"Not with my luck, love," he winked, and then looked up suddenly over the partition. "Ah, here comes your boyfriend," he warned her, raising his eyebrows in a cheeky expression, and with a final squeeze of her shoulder he was dashing back to the Sales department.

Gwen smiled after him, then quickly swiveled back around in her seat and replaced her headset.

"Dominant Web Systems, this is Gwen, how many I be of assistance?"

A pause.

"No, I'm sorry sir, I'm afraid you have the wrong number. You might want to try Dominant Escort Service…No, sir, I would rather not discuss that with you. You know what? Let me just forward you, sir. I have the number right here…You're welcome."

Gwen reckoned she should get some sort of commission from the adult escort service; she received nearly 30 wrong number calls for them a week. She always wondered what they were saying to Leon to get through to her department.

 _Equipment and Service_. She snorted. _Likely_.

* * *

"Listen mate, I know you're miserable stuck up here. Maybe you should come out with me today?"

"What, to the library?" Arthur appreciated Merlin's concern, but he could certainly think of more exciting prospects. Not that any of them were currently available to him.

"No, I know a great coffee shop. You'll love it. You can bring your laptop or a book or something, I'll even help you down the stairs."

Tempted as Arthur was to mock his flatmate's suggestion (it came so naturally), the idea was starting to appeal to him. He hadn't been out of the flat in ages, daunted as he was by the task of descending the two flights of stairs it took to reach street level. It might feel good to get out for a bit, even just for some tea.

"Ok?" Merlin asked, who had been watching him try to work out his answer.

Arthur nodded finally, and Merlin clapped him on the shoulder affectionately before running to grab his bag and a clean set of scrubs in case he was called in.

They worked together, gingerly hobbling Arthur down stair after stair until they reached the street. Arthur hadn't got much use out of his crutches, but he had the hang of it quickly enough, with Merlin slowing his pace and patiently waiting for him to catch up.

"I thought you said we were going to a café?" Arthur stared confusedly at the library entrance.

"Not here, you idiot, we're going just there," he indicated a trendy but inviting looking shop halfway down the block.

Relieved, Arthur followed him in through the entrance, sizing up the place. He had to admit it was pretty cool, with a mix of modern and rustic decor, some sensitive indie rock ballad crooning over the speakers underneath the hum of customers and machinery.

He scanned the chalkboard menu mounted high on the wall, his eyes gradually drifting down to the baristas working busily behind the counter. "Oh," he said, a mischievous glint claiming his eyes. "I see." He smirked at Merlin knowingly.

"What?" Merlin asked, feigning innocence.

"Your new favorite café, is it, Merlin? I suppose they make the best _hot chocolate_ in town?" He nodded his head toward the counter, indicating the leggy, fair-skinned brunette currently taking someone's order. _Just Merlin's type._

Arthur almost missed Merlin's _I've been caught_ expression before the man schooled his features. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Shaking his head in amusement, Arthur decided to leave it there, knowing he'd get more out of him soon enough. "Alright mate, whatever you say."

Arthur shifted his weight, trying to relieve the pressure of his crutches against his underarms. He didn't mind it when he was moving, but standing became uncomfortable relatively fast.

"Hey, why don't we go find a spot first? It'll only get more crowded," Merlin suggested, noting his friend's discomfort. He gestured to the partially exposed room upstairs. "My favorite spot's right up there."

"You're kidding, right?" Arthur had almost had enough of negotiating stairs with his injury already, and it'd only been today that he'd dared to.

"I'll help you. There's barely any, and it's good practice. Trust me, I'm a doctor."

 _Not yet,_ Arthur noted wryly to himself.

Once they had settled themselves into a cozy nook of the loft area, Arthur had to admit that Merlin was right, once again. If he had to be sedentary for a while yet, this was a fairly comfortable place to do it. He could easily see spending an afternoon relaxing here, messing around on his laptop or people watching with a pastry and an endless supply of tea. Arthur settled his injured leg on a chair next to him, and Merlin dumped his things, almost immediately getting back up.

"Know what you want?"

Arthur related his order and Merlin nodded, already knowing what he was going to ask for.

Merlin grabbed his wallet and made toward the stairs, pausing when he heard Arthur call after him.

"Merlin! Go for it, mate," he smiled in encouragement. Merlin gave him a stupid grin in return, and scurried down the stairs toward the queue.

Arthur chuckled to himself. He could barely imagine Merlin actually asking someone out. Most of the time he just got all moony around a girl until she'd tell him to get on with it or sod off.

He made himself comfortable, trying to decide what he wanted to do while he was there. He was extremely grateful to be out of the flat, but he couldn't shake a niggling feeling that he was forgetting something.

Suddenly inspired, he dug in his pocket for his mobile and scrolled through his recent calls to find the appropriate number.

"Dominant Web Systems, my name is Leon, how may I direct your call?"

"Equipment and Service," Arthur blurted out impatiently.

"One moment, sir," was his only response before he heard the connecting signal. His heart lifted slightly. _No hold time_.

"Dominant Web Systems, this is Linda, how can I help you?" he heard the polite elderly woman's voice greet him.

"Uh…" was all he could manage. He hadn't considered that someone else would answer. "Er…there was, I was…I was talking to someone else! And the call got disconnected. I think her name was Gwen?"

"Oh, I'm sorry sir. Gwen is not available at the moment. Can I help you with something?"

"No!" he said, probably too hastily. "Uh…there was…there was an issue but I just wanted to say it was fixed."

"Ok, thank you for letting us know, sir."

"Yeah, no problem…bye."

"Have a good afternoon, sir."

Hanging up, Arthur frowned at his mobile, feeling a bit disappointed and slightly confused with himself. _What am I doing, anyway?_

* * *

Merlin felt jumpy with nerves as he neared the counter. Turning to greet him, the girl's expression altered substantially, pale green eyes and pink lips alighting with mirth. "Merlin! Right?"

Merlin fought the blush that came when she recognized him. "Yeah. And you're—"

"Morgana," she smiled, indicating her name tag. "What can I get you? Grande hot chocolate?"

"Yes, please, and an English breakfast, for my mate."

She nodded, lips still curved in a pretty smile as she rang him up and turned to make his order.

Merlin hesitated. _Should he say something?_

"Hey—" he started lamely, before he could think any harder. She turned to him expectantly. "Uh…do you wanna…would you—"

"Sure," she giggled, grabbing a napkin and scrawling a number on it for him. Merlin couldn't help but beam back at her before she turned her attention back to his order.

He was blushing furiously, and he didn't care. He'd somehow managed to score the number of the girl he'd been not-so-subtly daydreaming about for weeks now. He couldn't wait to tell Arthur he'd actually... _sort of_...asked the girl out!

He turned toward the pick up line, crashing directly into someone who had apparently been holding two drinks in their hands, the contents of which were now completely covering his shirt.

"Oh shit! I mean, I'm so sorry!" the girl uttered frantically, trying to contain the mess. But Merlin was in too good a mood to get angry about it. He quickly grabbed some napkins and stooped to help her mop up the mess, heedless of his shirt, which he considered a lost cause.

He watched as the already half-empty cup in her hand tilted precariously, threatening to spill over once more while she vigorously sopped up the puddle of coffee.

"Hey, whoa, whoa," was all Merlin managed to say as he tried to set the cup right in her hand.

Realizing what he was doing, she gripped the cup more firmly and met his eyes, seeing the amusement dancing in them. She burst out in a riot of giggles, and soon enough she'd pulled him into a laughing fit with her.

"I really am sorry," she gasped finally, her warm brown eyes near tears.

"It's no problem, really. Total accident," he smiled reassuringly. "Though you might be more concerned about this," he suggested, hesitating momentarily before tugging the moistened tips of her dark, curly hair out of the cup in her right hand.

"Oh bugger!" she grabbed at her hair, trying to squeeze out the remaining droplets of coffee. "God, I'm a complete mess!"

Merlin laughed, "Hey, you got off easy!" He stretched out his shirt, displaying a rather large, dark stain.

"Oh, god. I feel terrible, I'm so sorry!" she repeated, her expression turning to mortification once more.

Merlin smiled in response. "No, no, _seriously_ , don't worry about it. I've actually got another shirt with me, so really it's your lucky day."

She chuckled nervously, seeming a little reassured. "Well then, if that's what you call this."

They helped each other up, stuffing the soiled napkins into the nearest bin. As the woman dumped the remainder of her drinks in after them, Merlin saw Morgana peek her head over the counter by the pick up area and catch his eye to beckon him over.

"Ah, I've gotta go," he said quickly to his new acquaintance as she dabbed at a medium-sized stain on her trench coat. "Hope your day turns around." He smiled and went to pick up his drinks.

As he reached out to collect his order, Morgana was slow to move her hands away from under his.

Merlin exchanged a shy glance with her and watched her smile coyly at him before turning back to her job.

It was only when he'd made his way halfway back up the stairs that he remembered the ridiculous stain on his shirt, and he hoped to god that she didn't think he was ridiculous.

* * *

"…And a double espresso for the leprechaun," Gwen recited, setting the small cup on Gwaine's desk.

"What happened to you?" he chuckled, his finger tracing the conspicuous stain on her lapel.

She shot him an unappreciative look. "You don't want to know. Let's just say we should be completely even since I had to queue and pay twice for that drink."

Gwaine laughed, holding his hands up in surrender, "Alright, princess, we're even for now."

Gwen didn't consider herself to be any clumsier than the next person, but then when you're having one of those days, it can bring out the worst in you.

She did feel a little extra skip in her step, contemplating how the stringy dark-haired man she'd bumped into had been so friendly and forgiving. She didn't know if she would have had the patience had their roles been reversed. She could tell he had an innate kindness about him, though, and it warmed her to remember that there were genuinely kind people in the world.

She really did need that reminder every once in a while.

Settling back into her cubicle, she shuffled through her missed messages, finding nothing that required immediate attention.

And not one familiar voice.


	5. Chapter 5

"Hello, Arthur," she greeted him fondly. "What can I do for you today?"

Gwen was truly pleased to hear from him again after the couple of odd exchanges they'd had. She found that she genuinely enjoyed speaking with him.

"Well," he started, and she thought he sounded rather determined. "It seems my new equipment isn't quite working."

"Is that so? And have you tried rebooting it?" It was her customary response, and 90% of the time it fixed whatever alleged problem the customer was calling about.

She heard him scoff playfully. "Of course, Guinevere! I'm not completely incompetent. There's no light on the…the _thing_ …"

"Oh, you _are_ quite good at this, _aren't you_?"

Arthur sounded sheepish. "I did hook up our DVR myself once."

She repressed the urge to snicker, trying to imagine the helpless man she was coming to know attempting to navigate the cables necessary to install the recording device.

"Ok, Arthur," she indulged him, "can you do something for me?"

"Anything for _you_ , Guinevere," he replied teasingly, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes. He seemed to elicit that response from her quite often.

"Can you look on the back of the device and describe what you see?"

"Um, yeah. One second. I just…" she heard the scrape of furniture against the floor, a loud clatter, and a muffled curse from Arthur.

A few moments later, Arthur's voice returned. "Well there are some ports here and—oh, shit."

She smirked. Just as she had suspected. "Is it plugged in all the way now?"

"Yeah…I can see the lights now."

She bit back a chuckle at his expense in favor of drawing out the silence, just for the fun of it.

"You probably think I'm an idiot, don't you?"

 _Yes._ "Of course not." She was starting to lose track of the number of times the thought had occurred to her.

"Liar."

"Excuse me?" she gasped.

"Well, for what it's worth…you've been more helpful than you can imagine."

"Have I? How is that?" She caught herself doodling idly on her notepad.

"The hangover remedy, for one, definitely saved my arse. I felt like someone was taking a sledgehammer to my head for most of the day, but I got Merlin to pick some up and I woke up later feeling infinitely better. All thanks to you, Guinevere."

She smiled as he pronounced her full name, not entirely sure why it pleased her so much to hear.

"Oh yeah? What flavor'd you get?"

"Mixed berry. It was pretty good, actually."

"Mmm, no. You need to try the fruit punch. That's the best one."

"I'll keep it in mind for my next bender," he vowed dryly.

She loved his sense of humor, so complimentary to hers.

"I'm glad to have helped restore you to the outside world."

He laughed uncomfortably. "Actually, I'm not quite there yet. I've got a cast on one of my legs so I'm not exactly in the right way to get out much at the moment."

Momentarily stunned by his admission, Gwen forgot herself. "Oh my god, what happened?"

"Uh…" he seemed unprepared to answer. "It was...a motorcycle…accident. Yeah, nasty spill. I'm fine, though."

"Aha," she replied, unconvinced. "So the man can drive a motorcycle, but he can't manage to plug in a router?"

Arthur sputtered, grasping for a retort.

"Arthur?" she heard an unfamiliar male voice call in the background.

Arthur cleared his throat hastily and suddenly all she could hear was the scuffle of the phone being pulled away, the receiver brushing against something. She strained her ears, barely able to make out the conversation.

"…talking to?" asked the other voice.

"Uh, no one," she recognized Arthur's voice. "Just, ah, checking my voicemail."

"Why are you hiding your mobile under your shirt then?"

Gwen chuckled quietly to herself as she tried to imagine the scene, but the rest of the conversation was obscured by a loud rustling and then an abrupt silence on the other end.

 _Idiot_ , she thought faithfully, shaking her head with a small smile. Checking her phone's display, she glanced around quickly before scrawling the number on her notepad for future reference.

She had a feeling this wasn't the last she'd be hearing from him.

* * *

To her horror, Gwen realized that she was actually beginning to _look forward_ to her normally agonizing shifts each day. Or at least the part where she got to chat with Arthur for a while.

He rarely called at the same time, and it was always a pleasant surprise when she absently patched through the next customer and met with his voice.

Initially somewhat annoyed, she was becoming increasingly amused by his endless excuses for calling her specifically, and she marveled at his creativity. Sure, she might have told him sooner that it didn't matter what he was calling about, because she wasn't allowed to hang up on customers unless they explicitly threatened her anyway, but she was enjoying his pathetic attempts to justify his excessive calls.

Sometimes it was "the little lights aren't blinking again"; other times he pretended to be completely computer illiterate, forcing her to walk him through Googling something embarrassingly easy (or just plain embarrassing, as he seemed to delight in trying to make her squirm). Often he'd call in and rather unsubtly pretend he was someone else – whatever fantastical character he'd dreamed up that day – just for her amusement. Gwen was starting to think Arthur would make brilliant writer; he was uncommonly talented at inventing different personas.

She relaxed a little after the first two weeks or so of consecutive calls, when she didn't hear so much as a peep from her supervisor regarding her peculiar call log. She had heard the higher-ups didn't listen in much, but she'd never trust her job to a rumor.

But then, she supposed, if she never got any feedback about pervs like Paterson that also called her fairly regularly, then she was probably safe talking to Arthur as often as she was. After all, their conversations were innocent enough, if a little ridiculous at times.

And he made her laugh.

Still, she couldn't believe she was doing this. Honestly, she'd never considered it before. But she tired of catching herself before she said something that might get her into trouble, or trying to keep the reins on an intriguing conversation he'd started. No matter how confident she was that her call would probably go unmonitored, she could never be completely uninhibited. And much as she tried to deny it, she was curious to know more about him.

He'd dropped hints about his personal life here and there, but she hadn't allowed herself to express too much interest for fear that it would be considered "inappropriate" or "unprofessional." Not to him, of course; Arthur was constantly prodding her to talk about things she was sure she couldn't discuss at work.

No, even if she hated her job most of the time, she knew she couldn't risk losing it. But neither could she bring herself to give up her easy companionship with her new friend, if she could consider him such. He was, _genuinely_ now, her favorite customer, and the relative anonymity of their relationship allowed her a certain freedom that she didn't have with others in her life.

And so here she was, writing her mobile number cryptically on a post it, and hoping to whatever's up there that this mad idea didn't come back to bite her.

"What are you doing there, lass? Practicing your 'Mrs. Agravaine de Bois' signature?"

Startled, Gwen swiftly minimized the database record on her screen and shoved her doodle-ridden notepad over the post it. "More like 'Mrs. Gwaine Kelly,'" she jested, giving him a doe-eyed look that she knew would avert his attention.

"A man can dream," he grinned, tugging one of her curls. "You coming with us tonight?"

He was always trying to get her to go out for drinks with the rest of the Sales department.

"Not this time," she supplied her usual answer.

He pouted pathetically and Gwen crossed her arms, unimpressed. When he persisted, she threw her head back and rolled her eyes in resignation. "Fine, I'll go next time. I promise."

Gwaine straightened immediately, the familiar impish grin returned to his irritatingly handsome features. "Good," he said curtly before leaning over to place a quick kiss on the crown of her head. "'Cause we're going on Thursday, too."

As her colleague darted off to recruit more companions for the outing, Gwen slumped in her seat, contemplating the commitment she'd locked herself into.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't until Thursday morning that Gwen finally worked up the courage to mail the note. After narrowly avoiding a game of 20 questions with Gwaine, she had slipped the post it into the neatly addressed envelope and tucked it away in her cubicle among the tidy stack of her accounts paperwork.

She'd lost her nerve to send it that day, but since then she had found herself distracted, her eyes straying to it on more occasions than she could count.

What was the big deal, anyway? It was the next logical step.

After all, Arthur wasn't calling her every day out of obligation. He obviously wanted to speak to her, to know more about her.

 _So what am I so nervous about?_ She kept asking herself.

 _Just jump,_ a tiny, impulsive voice in her head commanded, and three days after she'd written the note, she found herself slipping the envelope into her bag.

She shut down her computer and tidied her desk for the next day, watching as the clock struck six-thirty. On cue, Gwaine materialized in front of her cubicle, already waggling his eyebrows at her in excitement.

"You ready for tonight, princess?"

She shook her head, refusing to take the bait. "Yes, Gwaine, I think I can handle it."

"Good lass. Let's get going then!" He moved to take her elbow.

She hesitated. "I have to um, grab some things actually," she said cryptically. "I'll meet you out front in five?"

He gave her a suspicious look that said _don't you dare try anything_.

"I'm coming, I swear! I just have to take care of something really quick."

"Alright, love, but you're not wiggling out of this one." Gwaine gave her elbow a final squeeze. "I'll be waiting."

Gwen sighed in relief as her friend disappeared into the small crowd of personnel that were funneling out of the building for the night.

She made sure she wasn't being observed before she snuck over to the shipping department. Tapping the mailing machine awake, she slipped the envelope through the document feeder, watching it emerge with a paid postage stamp in the corner. Tucking it back into her purse and vowing to find a post box while they were out that night, she looked around once more before heading to the locker room.

After peeling off the modest shirt she'd layered over her slightly racier going-out top, she exchanged her work cardigan for a cropped leather jacket waiting on the hook, slipped on some lip gloss and a fresh coat of mascara, and she was ready to go.

She gathered her things and made her way outside to meet her colleagues.

"God in heaven, princess, were you wearing those jeans all day?" Gwaine gawked at her as she sidled up to him.

She rolled her eyes. "I wear these jeans almost every day."

Looking around, she realized that she had joined a group significantly smaller than she had anticipated.

"Um…is it just us?"

Gwaine nodded, looking somewhat disappointed. "Yeah, just you, me, and Leon tonight 'cause the others have FUCKED OFF!" his voice rose as he directed the accusation at a group of their colleagues that were headed in the opposite direction. A few of them turned back, laughing and chorusing "Piss off, Kelly!"

Gwaine sighed, shaking his head, before he let his customary mischievous grin return. "Anyway, the three of us, we'll make it a night to remember, eh?" He winked.

Gwen looked to Leon in commiseration, but received only a nervous smile from her quiet coworker.

"Alright then, let's get on with it," she proposed less than enthusiastically.

* * *

"You sure you don't want to come with us tonight?" Merlin tried one last time as Morgana tugged futilely at his sleeve in the doorway.

"No, I'm beat. And anyway, I'm not going out like this. I'll wait until I get it off next week."

"It's one pound pint night at the club!"

Arthur waved him away lazily. "Go, have fun."

Merlin stared him down a moment longer, apparently attempting to will his flatmate off his arse with the sheer stubbornness of his gaze before he finally succumbed to Morgana's tugging.

"Leave him alone," Arthur heard her say as they left the flat.

Faintly, he heard Merlin's reply echo in the stairwell, "I swear, there's something wrong with him!"

* * *

They made themselves comfortable, scooting into a small circular booth with a round table just big enough to hold a couple of drinks. Gwen found herself wedged between her two colleagues.

It was the third club they'd been to thus far that evening; Gwaine promising that each one would be better than the last. He insisted on buying a round for the three of them to 'get them started,' but Gwen suspected it had more to do with the cluster of university girls in tight skirts hovering around the bar.

She chuckled to herself as she watched him approach, not blaming him in the slightest.

"So have you been here before?" Gwen turned around as she heard Leon's voice. She had forgotten he was next to her for a moment.

"No, actually," she laughed. "This isn't really my thing. I'm more of a casual pub girl. Not entirely comfortable with the club scene. Too dark and loud, you know?"

Leon nodded. "Well I'm glad you came," he said.

"Me too," she agreed, and she was. She never really regretted going out, it was just convincing herself that it would be worth trading her comfortable pajamas and a date with her TV that usually got in the way.

"What about you?" she asked, genuinely curious, "is this your thing?" She hadn't really tried to get to know Leon that well outside of work. She thought he was a nice guy, and not bad looking, but for some reason she hadn't ever imagined what he was like outside the call center.

"Sometimes," he had to shout a little as the music seemed to grow louder. He scooted closer so that she could hear him. "It's a good place to meet up with people."

She didn't know what to say to that. She looked over her shoulder to check on Gwaine, only to discover him chatting up a tall brunette at the bar. An arm came around the woman's waist as her vaguely familiar looking date pulled her away, and Gwaine raised his glass in a toast to the couple, acknowledging defeat in his own good-natured way. Apparently not discouraged, he immediately engaged the two university girls that squeezed into the newly vacated space next to him.

"He looks like he's getting on well," Gwen observed dryly, not taking her eyes off him.

"Yeah, he always does," she heard Leon's response, but she was distracted when she suddenly felt the pressure of his hand on her leg. "Listen…Gwen, I've—"

"Um," she interrupted, her body language clearly expressing her discomfort. "Sorry…Leon? I thought…I thought we were just hanging out."

Leon looked slightly confused, then removed his hand as her words sank in. "Oh," she heard the disappointment in his voice. "Right…yeah, I was just…"

"Don't worry about it," she stopped him, eager to escape the awkwardness of the situation. Where was Gwaine when she needed him? "Hey, I'm gonna go check on Gwaine real quick," she said, pushing herself out of the booth hastily and making her way over to the bar before Leon could respond.

Gwaine was leaning in close to the girls, probably telling them one of his ridiculous stories. They were rapt, both of them watching his face with apparent fascination.

Gwen smiled wryly and pressed herself up against the bar next to him. His back was to her, and she made a point to bump him slightly as she arrived.

He turned his head toward her and she put her hand on his shoulder to hoist her mouth up to his ear.

"Did you know about this?" she wasn't sure whether she was angry with him or not.

He gave her a quizzical look, "know about what?"

"Leon! He tried to make a move on me."

"Already?! Jesus, doesn't waste any time, does he?" His eyebrows shot up.

Gwen glared at him. "So you _did_ know?"

"What, that he has a thing for you? Gwen, sweetheart, you must be the only one who _didn't_ know!"

She scoffed. "You're shitting me, right?"

"Look, I just thought that—"

"You just thought what?" she cut him off, deciding that she _was_ indeed angry with him for knowingly putting her in this situation. "You thought you'd bring me here and put me in a corner with him and see what happened? You couldn't have warned me?"

"Gwen, I never thought—"

"You know what? I think I'm done for tonight. Tell Leon I'm sorry but something came up," she grabbed her clutch from where it was resting on the bar and turned to go.

"Gwen, wait!" she heard Gwaine call, and she knew he was coming after her.

When she'd made it back outside and started walking determinedly in the direction of her flat, she heard Gwaine's footsteps behind her, closing the distance fast.

"Gwen," he caught up to her, catching her waist in his hands and turning her around to face him. "I swear, I didn't think he'd do anything. I just thought he wanted a chance to talk to you outside the office." His expression was soft, remorseful. "He's a good guy, I've talked to him…I wouldn't ever want to make you uncomfortable."

Gwen looked away, frustrated with him but beginning to understand his stupid logic.

"Gwen…" he pleaded, taking her face gently in his hands to force her meet his gaze. "I'm sorry, ok?" he offered. "I'm sorry."

Her expression softened, and he leaned down to touch his lips briefly to hers in a friendly, conciliatory kiss.

Drawing away, she looked down, feeling a bit daft for storming out like she had. But his hand still held her chin lightly, and before she knew it, his lips were on hers again.

This kiss was soft, testing. Her mind went blank as she surrendered herself to the sensation for a moment, and suddenly she was kissing him back with the same gentle force. Finally he drew away once more, breathing heavily, his eyes searching hers. They stood there, staring at one another, unable to move.

"Uh," he finally said. "I'm—I'm sorry, I've…I've got to go." Gwen just stood there as he mumbled incoherently, turning away from her and then halfway back again before he strode off toward the club entrance.

She'd never seen Gwaine so flustered. The man could usually talk his way into or out of anything.

 _Should have stayed home with the TV after all_ , Gwen thought numbly, her fingers grazing over her lips. Seeing him disappear, she turned around and continued back to her flat.

Her mind raced, trying to process everything that had just occurred within a fairly eventful five minutes or so, but the only thought that was sharp enough to penetrate the fog of confusion was _what is wrong with men?_


	7. Chapter 7

_Arthur: 2, Stairs: 0_ , he tallied mentally as he twisted the keys in the mailbox, pulling out a small bundle of envelopes.

He flicked through them disinterestedly, unsurprised to find no paycheck. Right.

 _Message received, Father_ , he thought wryly.

He thrust the envelopes into the pocket of his hoodie, taking just enough care to make sure they wouldn't fall out on his way back up the stairs. A nearby rattling drew his attention.

A pretty blonde woman he'd never seen before was jerking ineffectually at a key shoved partway into the lock of her mailbox. "Come on!" she muttered under her breath, clearly frustrated.

Arthur hefted himself over to her, hovering slightly behind her.

"Need some help?" he tried.

"Um, no thanks, I think I've got it," she answered without turning away from her task. But from the jingling of her keys and the unnatural squeak of the metal lock protesting against her exertion, he was pretty sure she didn't have it.

He scooted closer, placing his hand over hers to stop her doing any further damage. "Here, let me."

She turned to him finally, surprised as she took in his appearance.

He pulled the key out with a little effort and examined the rest of the keys on the chain, quickly finding the more appropriate choice.

"It's this one," he demonstrated without meeting her eyes, sliding it into the lock with ease and twisting it open soundlessly. The narrow mailbox cover swung open to reveal a thick stack of envelopes accumulated inside.

"Oh, right…" she said faintly, and he smiled politely at her. "I'm—I'm Vivian," she smiled, offering her hand.

Arthur hesitated briefly, and then shifted his balance against his crutches so that he could accept her handshake. "Arthur."

"I'm sort of flat-sitting for the Duncans in 4A."

Arthur nodded in understanding. "Ah, yeah, was wondering why I hadn't seen them in a while. I'm in 4B."

She lit up in a pretty smile. "They're on an extended vacation, I'm just making sure everything's kept in order."

"Of course."

She was cute, and probably just his type (if he took Merlin's word for it). He wouldn't mind seeing more of her; she was clearly taken with him already. If she was going to be around, he'd let that stew a while longer, and he was sure she'd manage to strategically bump into him soon enough.

"Well, good luck with that. It's the um, the gold one there, with the square-ish top. For future reference." He winked, just for good measure.

"Thanks, Arthur." He could practically hear her wracking her brain for something else to say. Finally she blurted "see you around!"

_Too easy._

He felt her eyes following him as he turned to continue up to his flat, and he couldn't help but be annoyed with himself for feeling self-conscious as he hopped up the stairs.

* * *

"Oi! For you," Merlin waved something in his face, obscuring his view of the football match.

Arthur snatched it from his hand, sitting up as his team apparently scored a goal.

" _Damnit!_ Merlin, you've got an incredible sense of bad timing, you know that?" he called after his flatmate peevishly as he frantically sought out the remote to rewind the DVR.

Having thoroughly analyzed the play, he finally turned his attention to the thin envelope in his lap. It had his name and address handwritten in an elegant, feminine script.

_Hmm, must have overlooked it in today's mail._

But the strange thing was that it was only his first name.

Who would write to him with only his first name? Even his father wrote out his full name when he sent him something.

He flipped through his mental catalogue of ex-girlfriends, debating who was most likely to write him, but the handwriting wasn't particularly familiar.

Curiosity piqued, he slipped his finger under one of the edges and tore open the envelope, finding a single yellow square of paper inside. Lifting it out, he examined it closely. Just a short string of numbers.

 _A phone number?_ The note was signed concisely " _x G_ " and he puzzled at it, wondering who would have sent it.

It couldn't be… _could it_?

Would Guinevere really send him her personal phone number? He supposed it wasn't entirely unrealistic. She did seem to enjoy talking to him, and she hadn't discouraged him from calling her every day like he had done for the past several weeks.

He struggled to contain a growing excitement and an obnoxious fluttering in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't ignore.

It wouldn't be any different from speaking to her at work, would it?

Who was he kidding? It would be completely different. She could speak to him freely. No more "sirs" (though she had kept those to a minimum since the second time they had spoken when he had told her he preferred to be called by his first name); no more unnecessarily polite "sorrys" or "thank yous."

Hell, she might actually even answer some of the questions he'd asked her teasingly, knowing that her work wouldn't allow her to talk about her personal life to such an extent.

He'd never wanted to get her in trouble. He only wanted to tease her, because it was so fun. Especially when he could get her to laugh, when he knew she was trying to hold back.

The possibilities were endless, and _shit_ , he was suddenly terrified.

Checking over his shoulder to make sure Merlin had left the room, he clutched his mobile in one hand, his eyes darting back and forth between the note and the touchscreen keypad as he transferred the numbers into his phone.

 _How to start?_ It should have been an easy decision. After all, he'd practically become an expert at coming up with elaborate excuses to call her. He was well practiced, having evaded his father's attention for so long. Though technically that had sort of crashed and burned.

Nothing different about a text though, right?

Maybe something flirty. Push her buttons a little and if he knew her at all, she'd be irritated enough that she'd have to respond.

He typed the message quickly, letting his thumb hover over the send key in a moment's hesitation before biting the bullet.

 _Miss me already?_ _-A_

The seconds stretched as he stared at the screen, wondering if she'd respond directly or if he'd have to wait anxiously.

What time was it? Seven? She should be home, right? Well, it _was_ a Saturday. She could be out, for all he knew.

His heart leapt into his throat as he saw the "…" symbol appear on the screen, indicating that she was currently writing her response.

_You'd hardly give me the chance to._

As her message appeared, he felt immense relief. At what, he wasn't sure.

 _You know, most women would be content with one phone call a day_.

His phone buzzed almost immediately.

 _I'm not most women_.

He snorted. She was probably right about that. Before he could reply though, another message appeared.

_Can you talk?_

Arthur heaved himself upright and hopped one-legged to the doorway to peer down the corridor, double checking that Merlin's door was closed. Back in the living room, he took a deep breath before navigating to her freshly entered contact and selecting "call."

"Well, I guess that answers the question," he heard her familiar smoky voice greet him, though it was slightly lower pitched, and more sarcastic than she'd ever dared when he called her at work.

He quite liked it.

* * *

Arthur's familiar chuckle was a welcome comfort. "Two phone calls in one day, Guinevere? You're not suffering withdrawals, are you?"

"Shut up. I just couldn't resist the temptation to call you an idiot any longer. And anyway, I'm glad you got my note so quickly because…as pathetic as it sounds, I could really use a friend right now."

"What is it?" he asked, and she was touched at the concern in his instantly sobered tone.

After an awkward Friday avoiding certain of her colleagues, Gwen had spent the majority of her Saturday sequestered in her flat, her only company the tangle of conflicting feelings that defied her to concentrate on anything else. Nestled into the corner of her sofa, she wondered how she was meant to address his question when she could barely sort out her own thoughts.

She sighed. "Can you explain to me—what is _wrong_ with men?" she asked the only one she currently trusted.

Arthur laughed, probably not expecting such an absurdly unanswerable question. "A lot of things. You might want to be more specific?"

She ducked her head, resting her forehead on the heel of her free hand. "I think I've fucked it up. I mean, _he's_ fucked it up. I don't—"

" _Guinevere,_ Guinevere, wait," he stopped her. "What's this about? You sort of skipped that part."

"Oh, right," she mumbled dumbly. "Uh, well…you know…I work with a few men here that I see outside of work sometimes?"

"Yeah?"

"Well…" she related the story as well as she could, still confused by the whole affair, but clear-minded enough to make sure she left out their names at least. She knew Arthur was capable of any number of shenanigans, and she wasn't about to rat out her colleagues to one of their most frequent calling "customers."

Arthur listened patiently as she told the story, scoffing when she described Leon's attempted pass, and growing quiet when she told him about the unexpected kiss between her and Gwaine.

"Do you want him?" he asked eventually, when her story had devolved into aimless rambling.

"—What? Do I…? I don't… _what_?" Gwen stammered at his bluntness.

"Oh come on, the guy's a complete arse for taking advantage of you while you were trying to chew him out, but you kissed him back, right?"

"Yes…" she conceded, already wary of where he was going with this. She'd played it over and over in her mind and it still didn't make sense to her.

He sighed. "Well, did you like it? Did you want it to stop?"

She shook her head, not knowing how to answer. "I don't know. He's—I mean, he's my best mate here. It's never been more than that. I spend most of my time teasing him."

"The way little boys tug on little girls' pony tails?"

"No! I mean, I don't know. He's bloody gorgeous, but I never seriously considered—"

"What you may or may not have considered in the past is irrelevant. How do you feel right now, in _this moment_ , Guinevere?"

Her mind short-circuited at the directness of the question.

"I think…" She stopped her circuitous reasoning for a moment and attempted to be honest with herself. "I think I know what a relationship with Gwaine would be like already. I think I've dated him before. Not _him_ , but you know, I've dated _that guy_."

Arthur was quiet for a moment as he considered her response, but she could have sworn she heard him smile, if that was even possible.

"Well then, there's your answer."

She was bewildered. How had he managed to pull that out of her so quickly? She suddenly felt a strong surge of gratitude for this strange man who'd nudged his way into her life.

"God, I guess you're right," she sighed in relief. "Thank you. Seriously, Arthur."

"Of course, Guinevere," he replied with equal sincerity.

"Now I've just got to figure out how to set all this right again."

"That's the real bother of it," he agreed. "If he really is your mate like you say he is, he'll want it sorted too." He cleared his throat. "Not meaning to stress you out any more, but uh, what do you mean to do about the other bloke? The one that came onto you?"

Gwen shook her head. "That, I think I nipped in the bud already. Might be awkward for a bit but I was pretty clear."

"Good girl," he said. "Anyway, considering how oblivious you apparently were to how he fancied you, I don't think you really owe him an explanation."

"No," she agreed. "He's a nice guy generally, but I don't owe him anything for that. God, if only I'd known what I was getting into agreeing to go out with them."

"Probably would have surfaced at some point anyway. Sounds like you and the Sales guy have some blurred boundary issues."

She marveled at how insightful Arthur could be. Giving him her personal mobile number might have been the best decision she'd made in a long while.

"Yeah, I think you're right about that. How do you know so much?"

"Eh," he uttered noncommittally. "I've had my fair share of experience, and Merlin's always insistent that we _talk out_ my issues whenever things go badly. Unfortunately, I think some of his senseless prattle has infiltrated and there might be a grain or two of wisdom in there."

"And I'm sure that's a compliment, coming from _you_ ," she chuckled.

"I'll have you know I'm a perfectly polite, upstanding gentleman most of the time."

She tried to imagine the voice on the other side of the line wearing an indignant pout. "Mm, yes, and I suppose they taught you to hang up on service operators in finishing school?"

Arthur seemed at a loss for words for a moment. "I suppose you'll never let me forget that you've...er... _heard_ me at my worst, will you?"

"Not a chance," she smirked.


	8. Chapter 8

"So, you seen that blonde bird wandering around downstairs?" Merlin asked suggestively.

"What?" Arthur was distracted, his mind completely elsewhere.

"You know, the one conveniently labeled 'ARTHUR' that's been loitering in the stairwell waiting for you?"

"What are you on about?" He asked again, though he knew perfectly well to whom Merlin was referring. _Vivian_. He'd forgotten about her.

"She's right up your alley, I'd have thought you'd asked her out already."

Arthur shrugged. "Probably will eventually, if she's really that interested."

"Who is she anyway? Seems like she came out of nowhere and suddenly she's there all the time."

"Dunno…just that she's apparently flat-sitting, though she doesn't seem to be very good at it. Didn't even know which was the mail key. Either the Duncans are terrible at explaining things or she genuinely has no idea what she's doing."

"Well, if I were you, I'd put her out of her misery already. She's like a lost puppy out there, waiting for you to come claim her. Me, well, I'm a taken man, so…"

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Merlin. _So that's how it's going to be now, is it?_

"She's not even your type, Merlin."

"Yeah, but that's beside the point," he gloated, tucking his hands behind his head and resting against his elbows. "I've got a girlfriend now, so it's up to you to…you know, spread the seed or whatever."

"Dear god, Merlin, can you hear yourself? Can you actually hear what's coming out of your mouth? What is that vixen _doing_ to you?"

He sighed. "You have no idea."

Unfortunately, Arthur did have somewhat of an idea, and many sleepless nights to attest to it.

"Right, well, I'm heading to bed." Merlin shoved himself off the couch.

"What time is it?" Arthur asked, probably sounding a little overly curious.

"Half eleven. I've gotta be in early tomorrow, remember? And a full shift, too. You staying up?" he asked, his hand hovering over the light switch.

Arthur hesitated. "Uh…yeah, I think I'm gonna watch this er…" he indicated the nature documentary airing on the telly. They'd talked through the credits of the on demand film they'd been watching and the cable had switched back on.

Merlin quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head, slightly bemused by Arthur's sudden interest in something so _un-_ Arthur. "Yeah, alright," he rolled his eyes, making a lewd gesture.

Arthur scowled. "Oh, piss off. I _am_ watching it, okay? _See_?" He tossed the remote control on the floor out of reach.

Merlin merely raised both eyebrows, arms crossed, clearly unconvinced. "Well, enjoy then. But not on my blanket, please."

With that, he turned and made his way back to his room for the night, but not before conspicuously humming the chorus of "I Touch Myself."

As soon as he heard the muffled thud of Merlin's door closing, Arthur whipped out his mobile and scrolled through his contacts until he found who he was looking for.

They'd talked for ages the night before. He knew she had to work the next day, but he was hoping he could catch her before she went to bed.

"Good evening, Miss Guinevere," he greeted her when she answered, smiling to himself already.

He honestly didn't know why he needed to talk to her every day so badly. At first it was just boredom, some kind of game to entertain himself while he was shut-in, but he'd quickly become addicted. There was no reason to it, or at least not one that he was ready to investigate just yet.

"Good evening to you, Arthur. You're up late. I didn't think I'd hear from you today."

"And miss regaling you with the saga of my exciting trip to the loo? Not a chance." He'd spent almost the entire day in the flat with Merlin, who felt guilty that he wouldn't be available to help Arthur to his doctor's appointment to get his cast off the next morning.

He'd enjoyed the quality time with his flatmate, especially since Merlin tended to spend the bulk of his free time with Morgana these days. But he also felt slightly out of sorts for not having spoken to Guinevere that day, even just for a quick spell. Now that weekends were no longer off-limits, he intended to take full advantage of his new personal phone call privileges.

Really, it was her laugh that he couldn't stand to miss. He closed his eyes, attempting to commit the lovely sound to memory.

"So how was _your_ day?"

* * *

Merlin rolled out of bed at 5:30am, slipping into his scrubs and gathering his pre-packed bag.

He rubbed his eyes blearily before the bathroom mirror, running a razor over his face to catch any new stubble. After brushing his teeth, he wiped his mouth on the long sleeve shirt he wore beneath his scrubs and made his way quietly to the kitchen to grab some fruit for breakfast.

He was soundless as he snuck past Arthur's room, but surprised to see that the door was wide open as it had been when Merlin had gone to bed.

His question was answered when he entered the living room to find Arthur in the same clothes he'd been wearing the night before, sprawled on the couch. Merlin grabbed the remote from where it lay discarded on the floor and switched off the telly, now airing some morning children's show, and smirked when he looked closer to find his flatmate clutching his mobile to his chest possessively.

 _Yep_ , Merlin thought, snapping a picture with his camera phone for ammunition.

Arthur had some explaining to do.

* * *

Arthur awoke with the sweet sound of her laughter echoing from the deep recesses of his mind, dissipating as consciousness gradually won over and he became aware of the dissonant blaring of his alarm clock coming from the other room.

He had good dreams so rarely; he always felt robbed when he was ripped away from them prematurely.

But _this_ , he thought, he could remedy. He scrabbled for his mobile, which had made its way between the cushions at some point, and he wondered if it was too early.

He really should figure out what her work hours were, but she seemed to be there most of the time, no matter what time of day he called.

And if not, he would just get a quick fumbling chat with Linda or James as he attempted to explain his way out of their assistance.

Luckily, he got through to her with ease, feeling a surge of fondness at her morning voice that seemed just a shade cheerier than he was used to hearing later in the day. Of course, he'd now learned to distinguish her "real-life voice" from her honeyed "work voice."

"I've got a good one for you today," he assured her.

She waited patiently in silence.

"What do you call an alligator with a vest?" He paused for maximum effect. "An _investigator_."

And there it was, just what he'd wanted to hear. His face grew warm as she cracked up on the other end of the line.

"You're terrible," was all she could say between giggles.

It was the best way to start his day.

* * *

After their confusing encounter outside of the club, Gwen saw very little of Gwaine during work. What she did see of him was incidental. He'd pass her in the hallway or catch her eye accidentally in the locker room when they clocked in on mornings or left for the night.

She had no idea what he was thinking. The only thing she was sure of was that Gwaine Kelly was avoiding her.

She was surprised by how much this revelation hurt her. She hadn't realized how much she had enjoyed his company; he was a big part of why she could endure the job. Now, of course, Arthur had begun to play a significant role in helping her through the day.

But nonetheless, she missed her friend.

So when Gwaine finally tracked her down a few days later during her lunch break in the park, she found anger rising within her once more, crowding out any residual awkward feelings she held.

Gwaine found her on her favorite bench, picking at the last of her salad distractedly.

"Can I sit here?" he asked, and Gwen snorted.

"Really? When have you ever asked permission to invade my personal space?" She'd meant it as a joke, but she was unable to keep a tinge of anger out of the question.

He sighed as he sat down, a little farther from her than she was used to. Her heart ached at the loss of intimacy in their friendship.

"Look," he started finally. "The reason I've been avoiding you is that I don't know what to say. I don't know what happened back there and I don't know why."

Gwen turned to him, taking in the tired look of his features, and the way the corners of his mouth turned down ever-so-slightly, betraying a sadness she'd never seen about him. She wanted to tell him that it was okay, that she had been confused as well. She wanted to tell him that people are messy and things happen and sometimes we don't have explanations for them.

But something else needed to be said first.

"Well that's complete _bollocks_ , Gwaine. I don't care if you don't know how to deal with it. Do you think _I_ did?" She didn't allow him time to answer the question, but even so he simply opened his mouth ineffectually.

"Just because you're confused doesn't mean you get to just run off and hide from me. We're friends, Gwaine, and I expect you to be there for me regardless of whatever you're going through. We're both adults. We can talk about this."

He closed his mouth at last, thoroughly reprimanded, nodding as he dug his hands into his pockets.

"You're right. I'm sorry." It was simply said, and he offered no excuses.

She was thankful this apology didn't come with a kiss.

She frowned at him and his annoyingly lost expression. "Come here," she demanded, forcing him to scoot closer to accept her hug.

"Now what the fuck was that kiss about?" she asked, patting his leg, and he coughed out a laugh in surprise, smiling again at last.


	9. Chapter 9

In their relatively short and restricted friendship, Gwen had learned a considerable amount about Arthur.

To her, these were the little, squirrely pieces in the puzzle that made up Arthur, but together they were essential to understanding the whole of him. Like the infuriating bits of blue sky that you can't quite match up with the rest yet, but you know they'll come into play later when you've got more of the picture.

Not that she'd been making lists or anything. But if she _were_...

1\. He doesn't drink coffee. Hates the taste. She learns that he drinks only tea, preferably English Breakfast or Earl Grey. Doesn't bother with cream or sugar.

2\. He has a weird relationship with his father that he is reluctant to discuss.

3\. He's somewhat technologically challenged, but still insists on having the newest thing in his possession.

4\. His idea of a good joke is _"Where does the king keep his armies? In his sleevies!"_

5\. He's a bit of a sports freak. Like, __any_ _ sport.

6\. He drinks whisky when he's really upset.

7\. He's not a morning person, but he'll make a point to call her then anyway because he says that's when she's happiest.

8\. He's incredibly creative, and benignly manipulative.

9\. He is a surprisingly good listener.

10\. He could make her laugh without even trying.

11\. He believes in happiness, and not letting others control yours.

She admired this about him, but at the same time it frustrated her, because she knew that if she were to scrutinize her own life through Arthur's simplistic lens, it could never stand up to such a tenet.

Gwen wasn't _unhappy_. In fact, she had always been a moderately upbeat person with surprisingly dark humor. Or at least she used to be. But she realized that as she was getting older (older being a relative term), she was taking fewer and fewer risks.

And what were those hackneyed inspirational quotes always urging? To find happiness, one must take risks; turn one's self over to the unknown, or some rubbish like that.

She struggled to imagine what that translated to in her life. After all, she wasn't bloody Thoreau, out to become one with the wilderness and find some deep truth.

No, she was just another city dweller with a near entry-level job and an overcrowded bookshelf, the contents of which she never had time to read.

She had good friends that she'd grown up with, but most had moved to join the art and fashion scenes.

Now it was mostly Mary, the barista at the coffee shop across the park; Gwaine and his usual hangers-on in Sales; and occasionally Ms. Helens, the widow in the flat above hers, whenever Gwen _accidentally_ cooked "a bit too much" and pawned the rest off on her unsuspecting elderly neighbor.

But Arthur, he offered her something different. Somehow he'd nudged his way into her life and become a constant. She was baffled that she'd begun to rely on his companionship and the easy rapport they'd developed. She could natter to him about the most mundane details of her day and he never seemed to grow bored or impatient, but he also never shied away when she let slip something dark and personal.

His easy presence drew thoughts from her into the open like an avalanche, stray and wandering at first, and then rushing forth in a great torrent before she could stop herself. When she finally reclaimed enough self-awareness to be embarrassed, he merely chuckled and told her softly that he didn't mind. And she believed him.

There was a line there somewhere, though. She'd probably come too close to crossing it, but he made it so damned _easy_. She didn't know what it was between them, but whenever she began to feel vulnerable, he drew her back with levity, and he was just Arthur once more.

It was the small things she confided that made her trust in him grow with each conversation. She supposed she was giving him the little pieces of herself, too, that she simply hadn't bothered to share with others because well, it wasn't worth it.

Sometimes it _wasn't_ worth it to share the little pieces with people in her life who were so easily bored. They were precious, she realized as she related them to Arthur, and he drank them in like she was describing the riveting plot twist of a mystery novel.

She told him about how she can't stand it when radio DJs talk over the intros of her favorite songs.

He laughed and supposed that he agreed, though he'd never thought about it.

She told him how she'd only learned to tie her trainers beginning with the one loop instead of the bunny ears when she was twenty.

He told her he wished they made velcro light-up shoes for grown ups.

She confessed that deep down she'd always fantasized about what it'd be like to be a farmer; a sheep herder; a disciplined gardener.

 _I've always wanted to go on a great adventure,_ he admitted.

She'd let slip that her favorite color was purple, but that she didn't wear it often because it reminded her of her father, and how his eyes always lit up when she wore it.

To this he was quiet, never prodding, letting her describe the small, ordinary memories of a girl who'd had a close relationship with her father, and lost him too soon.

* * *

Arthur flopped over in his bed, pulling the pillow snugly over his head in a feeble attempt to drown out the sounds coming from the bedroom next door.

It was useless, he realized. He winced as he heard Merlin's loud moan, and the rhythmic squeaking increasing in tempo.

 _Please, god, just finish already!_ He found himself encouraging his flatmate. But no, just when their cries became frenzied the squeaking stopped, only to start out slowly again a minute or so later.

Another false alarm.

Arthur couldn't blame him. If he had a bird like Morgana, he'd probably be shagging her wits out all night every chance he could get too.

Not Morgana _specifically_ , of course. He liked her well enough, but it had only taken them about a half-hour of acquaintanceship to start squabbling with one another. He imagined his relationship with her was something like it might have been to have a sister. A sister that was way too overly defensive of Merlin.

 _Bugger it_ , he thought as they had apparently started another marathon session, and he heaved himself out of bed. Pulling his shorts and an old uni t-shirt on, he grabbed his mobile and made for the small balcony off the living room. Making no attempt to dampen the clamorous scrape of the sliding door closing behind him, he dropped into the plastic lawn seat and gazed out over the city.

Late as it was (or early, depending on one's outlook), he could still hear the buzz of traffic and the occasional shouting of drunks and vagrants, the blaring of sirens in the distance. The city lights winked from skyscrapers, and thick tendrils of fog obscured whichever stars hadn't already been snuffed out of view by light pollution.

She was out there somewhere, Gwen was. Just one in those teeming millions. He reckoned he could have passed her in the street a hundred times already without knowing it.

Would he know now, from the little he'd gleaned of her life? He wondered. Would he somehow sense it, if he saw her from afar or brushed past her?

Every now and then he found himself watching the women he passed in the street, probably looking like a total creep, but actually imagining if they were Gwen. He tried to imagine her voice coming from this or that woman, but he was never entirely sold.

Part of him felt as if she couldn't _be_ any of them, anyway. Like she was so much bigger, so much more full of life than any of the ordinary women he saw every day. None of them could possibly contain the sheer force of _being_ that she was, he thought.

But then, she was also just Gwen. Gwen, who worked at a call center even though she hated it so that she could make rent on her own; Gwen who attracted unwanted attention from her coworkers, but was so gracious that she'd worked it out with them anyway; Gwen, who dreamed of living in a cottage in the woods, like some old woman in a fairy tale.

He knew her. Knew _of_ her. Knew her voice. Knew her laugh. Knew her handwriting.

But only that. Only what she shared with him.

And so Arthur wondered, as he often did, what his friend was doing. His intention had been to call her, but even though she insisted he could call her at any time, he felt like more than a little bit of an arse as he considered robbing her of some much-needed sleep.

But then, maybe she'd been out all night and had just come in. Maybe she couldn't sleep either. Maybe she'd been attacked in the street and she couldn't reach anyone to come help her!

His mind got away from him, grasping for any excuse to justify disturbing her at this hour.

He sighed, dropping his mobile onto the small patio table as he decided to leave her be for once. Instead he picked up the book that was resting next to where he'd set his phone, remembering how he'd taken it out ages ago, fancying that he'd find some inspiration in it, and then a few chapters in he'd left it out here, forgotten.

It was a bad habit of his.

He thumbed through the pages he'd read, skimming the paragraphs to re-familiarize himself. Settling onto a new page, he read one sentence before his phone began to buzz.

"Oh, thank god," he sighed as he dumped the book back on the table to grab his mobile. He didn't care who it was.

 _Strike that_ , he thought as he saw the name _Guinevere_ flashing on the screen.

"Hello darling, can't sleep?" he greeted her.

"Bloody youths outside again. You sound awake," she observed.

"Merlin's in the throes, I'm afraid, and he can't be stopped."

She laughed. "Oh, poor you. Well you can't fault him, I suppose."

"I don't. But he could try to rein it in a _little_. I'm anticipating animal control will show up at any moment."

"Well, sometimes you can't," She reasoned.

"What, rein it in? _Guinevere_ , are you trying to tell me that you're a screamer?"

She burst out into giggles. "No, Arthur, and you're not wriggling out any more details. You've tried before and you've failed."

"Oh come on, I've told you loads of things."

"You mean you've volunteered information without any prompting? Yes, and it is quite entertaining, dear, but it's not negotiable." He scoffed incredulously. "The only people who know about _that_ side of me have earned it."

 _Oh, I'll earn it_ , he thought promptly.

Whoa, where had that come from? One minute he was musing on what an amazing woman and friend she was, and the next he was imagining doing… _things_ …to her?

This was Gwen he was talking to. Sweet, charming, supportive,... _sexy_ Gwen.

 _Christ, she_ is _sexy, isn't she?_

He'd admit he'd goaded her a bit from time to time, just because it was entertaining to make her squirm, especially when she pretended to be all _proper_. But he supposed he knew she was hiding another side, and he believed her when she said only certain people could see it.

But did _he_ want to see it?

He didn't know why it was suddenly so obvious, but it only took him a second to realize that _yes,_ he really did want to see that side of her.

Not only for obvious reasons (currently making his shorts feel rather crowded), but because he wanted to know _all_ the sides of her.

He thought of how expressive her laughter was sometimes, and he had no doubt she'd give Morgana _and_ Merlin a run for their money.

 _Oh god_ , he felt his cock twitch again, beginning to stir as his thoughts strayed. _Got_ _to change the subject_.

"Ahem. Right, well…going to dump some water on the wankers keeping you up then?"

She sighed. "It's tempting. I've seen one of my neighbors try it before though, and they came back and nearly smashed the windows in."

" _Bastards_. Can't you call the police?"

"They've been called on before, but they always manage to scramble away."

"Hmm, well, we'll just have to think up something clever then, won't we?"

She was quiet a moment but then he heard a small giggle.

"What?" he asked.

"Well, you just seem concerned, that's all. It's cute. You care about my sleep."

"Of course I do!" he was offended.

"It's just…"

"Just what?"

"Well, what would you do if I wasn't around to talk to this often?"

"Dunno, but that's not the issue. Of course I want you to sleep. How selfish would I be if I wished you were awake every night just to keep _my_ miserable arse company?"

 _Pretty selfish_ , he answered his own question as he realized he'd been hoping for exactly that just a short while ago.

"Mmm…" she agreed. "But for the record, I'm glad you're around to talk to."

 _That_ he was a little surprised to hear. So she wasn't opposed to admitting she could be a bit selfish too. _Selfish about me?_

"Although, your reason for being awake is definitely more amusing than mine."

 _Let's not go there again_ , he thought as he fought once more to quash the stirring sensation that her voice and certain images elicited.

"You know, for not wanting to discuss _that_ part of your personal life, you certainly enjoy discussing others."

"Well, you've got me there," she chuckled. "It's only, I feel like I know them. Just from how much I hear from you."

He smiled. He liked the thought of that. "You probably do, as well as you can. You'd fit right in."

"Do they know you talk to me?"

Arthur panicked a little. Did she _want_ them to know? Would she think it was odd that they didn't? Or would she also find it "cute" that he kept her a secret because he wanted her to himself?

He decided that with Guinevere, honesty was usually the best policy, even if it got him in a little trouble.

"No," he replied simply. "They know I'm on the phone a lot, but they don't know who I'm talking to."

"Surely you must seem a bit…eccentric, with all the phone calls?"

"Well, Merlin's been pretty caught up in his own affairs lately."

"Oh, right." She seemed endlessly amused by his relationship with Morgana. "It _is_ like that, in the beginning, isn't it?"

He thought she sounded wistful, and maybe a little distracted.

"Yeah," he replied softly. "I suppose it is."

They were both quiet for a few moments.

"So um… what about you? Anyone giving you crap for all the phone calls? Besides your mobile carrier, that is?"

"I've got unlimited, actually," she laughed. "Um, well, let's see…besides Linda and James, obviously," (he snorted) "Leon suspects, I think, even though you've mostly learned to bypass him—"

"He's so polite, I do enjoy messing with him every once in a while."

"It's his job! He's—he _is_ very polite, but you don't know everything that's going on there…" she said cryptically.

Arthur arched his eyebrow quizzically, but she continued.

"Gwaine—" she started, and then faltered.

"Gwaine?" he prompted, wondering what was stopping her.

"Gwaine's… a friend. And by some miracle he hasn't picked up on it. Although he does have the tendency to be a little self-absorbed at times."

"So no one at home?" he asked, though he knew perfectly well she lived alone.

"No…just me. You're no big secret, Arthur, I just haven't got very many curious people in my life, I suppose."

" _I'm_ curious," he insisted.

"Apart from you," she amended, chuckling.

"Are you lying down?" he asked suddenly when he heard a slight change in her voice. _Stupid question_. _What happened to_ not _going there?_

"Yes," she affirmed with humor in her voice. No doubt she was expecting this to go somewhere.

"Er…you just sound different is all."

"I can't believe you can tell if I'm lying down or not. Maybe we _do_ talk too much."

"Nonsense. Anyway, it's…easy to tell. What do you think I'm doing?" He hoped that didn't come out wrong.

"Well…" she thought for a moment. "You're sitting, probably in your boxers. Outside."

Arthur gaped; glad for once that she couldn't see him. "How do you know that?"

She chuckled. "Because it's 3am and I can hear the street noise. You wanted to get away from Merlin's lovefest but you're too tired to put your trousers on."

"Did I ever tell you you're a wise woman?"

"As a matter of fact, that was one of the first things you said to me."

"Still true. Either that or you've got a telescope and you're perving on me, you dirty, dirty girl." He said this last part teasingly, knowing she'd take the joke in stride.

He was rewarded with a delicious peal of laughter and he smiled at his favorite sound.

"You don't know how to have a normal conversation, do you Arthur?"

"With you? Never." _Uh oh. Why am I flirting so much? Boundaries, Arthur. Boundaries. Should probably tone it down._

He heard her breath hitch and she cleared her throat hastily.

"It's quite late, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "Do you think you can sleep now?"

"Hmm…depends, have you got another 'great' story to tell me?"

"Ok, now you're just being mean," he replied.

She laughed, yawning. "Goodnight, Arthur. Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams, Guinevere," he murmured, staring down at his mobile after the call had disconnected.

He'd never been so confused with himself in his life.


	10. Chapter 10

"It's been three weeks, Arthur. How long did you expect me to wait?"

Uther's increasingly exasperated tone was a sure sign that Arthur was walking on egg shells.

"I don't know, maybe at least until I was capable of _walking_ again?"

Arthur paced restlessly across the small living room, catching Merlin's eye and raising his eyebrows as if to say, c _an you believe this?_

His flatmate merely shook his head in commiseration, probably hearing enough from one side of the conversation to know it wasn't going to end well.

"Well, you seemed in no rush to rejoin the civilized world, Arthur. Clearly you have everything figured out. Maybe Emrys will help you out — fix you up with a nice job at that chip shop?"

He could not possibly have sounded more condescending.

"That was in uni, Father, and don't—" He looked sharply at Merlin again, feeling a rush of protectiveness for his friend. Sighing, he strode out of the flat, closing the door behind him and jogging down the stairwell until he felt he was safely out of earshot. "Don't bring him into this."

"I'm out of patience for you. If you're not ready to come back and be an adult, I'm more than happy to find someone to fill your place; someone I can rely on. I've informed Cenred it's a temporary position, but unlike you, he knows how fortunate he is, and I'm this close to telling him he has got the job full-time."

Arthur rubbed his face in frustration, anxious to resolve the tension but reluctant to make the commitment his father was asking for. He knew he couldn't put it off any longer. "Okay, okay. Fine. I'll...I'll come back next month."

"You'll come back next week, and no later, or there will be nothing left for you to come back to."

It was amazing how powerless he felt in the oppressive grasp of his father's will. "Next week?" he sighed in dismay, but he knew he was defeated.

"I'll need to brief you. We have several important meetings lined up and I don't want you stumbling in unprepared."

"When?" _Please at least give me a few days_.

"Tonight. You'll join me for dinner. I have an appointment after work but I will pick you up at seven."

"Very well. See you then." Uther didn't even give him the courtesy of a goodbye.

 _Lovely,_ Arthur thought. _This should be just lovely._

The clatter of high heels approaching interrupted his thoughts, and Arthur turned to see a large box teetering toward him in the arms of a petite woman. He watched the box pitch forward as the woman's shoe caught on the uneven flooring, and the woman in question went sprawling forward, along with most of the contents of the box she'd been carrying.

"Oh, God, are you okay?" He immediately bent forward to help the her. As she looked up at him in embarrassment, Arthur recognized Vivian.

"Yes, thank you. Oh my God! I am such a klutz, and so embarrassed," she said, fluttering her eyelashes a little. She needn't have admitted it; Arthur could tell by the flush of her cheeks that she was probably mortified that he'd witnessed the fall, but there was something else he'd read in her expression before she seemed to mask it.

_Fear?_

_She wasn't afraid of him, was she?_

After helping her up, he turned his attention to the assortment of objects that littered the floor, helping her collect and replace them neatly in the box. Arthur thought he'd never seen quite so much jewelry in his life.

"That's...quite a collection," he remarked, gathering up a few expensive-looking golden rings and necklaces that had scattered the floor.

"Oh," she laughed nervously, still recovering from the spill. "Yeah, I'm... I'm taking them to be cleaned. Family heirlooms, you know? Part of the flat-sitting deal."

"Right," Arthur nodded, a bit perplexed.

"Hey, you know what?" her eyes suddenly lit up and Arthur felt her hand rest gently against his bicep. "I just realized, I've been having trouble figuring out how the cable works on the television. Do you think you could help me?"

It sounded simple enough, but Arthur thought he still probably wasn't the best man for the job, given his track record with electronics. Their neighbors had already accused them of stealing their papers; the last thing he wanted was to give them another excuse to resent him. "Um, yeah, I mean...I think they have the same system as we do. Maybe Merlin can-"

"Oh, but I was really hoping you could help? You know, you've just sort of been my knight in shining armor lately." Her smile was perfectly calculated.

He should know. It was a smile he might have fallen for previously, but somehow he wasn't particularly interested. He supposed there wasn't any harm in helping her out, though.

"Yeah, sure," he smiled politely in return. "Just give us a knock next time you're in and I'll come down and show you."

"Thanks so much, Arthur!" she leaned to kiss him on the cheek and before he knew it, she had scurried out of the building with her box in tow. He hadn't even realized that she'd finished repacking it.

He shook his head and a strange, unidentifiable uneasiness niggled at the back of his mind.

It had been an odd day thus far, but then he hadn't spoken to Guinevere yet.

 _Easily rectified_ , he thought to himself as he pulled out his mobile and made his way outside for a pleasant stroll in the cool autumn afternoon.

* * *

Gwen swore this was the last time she'd be doing him any favors. As far as she was concerned, Gwaine could take care of his own clients.

She wouldn't let herself fall for it again.

At least, it was easy enough to say now in her frustrated attempt to locate the appropriate suite in the opulent downtown building she was currently lost in.

But on the receiving end of Gwaine's irresistible Irish charm and his pathetic blandishments that Gwen was the only one he trusted (and the most beautiful one at that), she'd given in to the request too easily.

The man knew how to sweet talk.

Now she had just a half hour before the work day ended to figure out what floor she belonged on and to find the client he'd sent paperwork for.

As if sensing her anxiety, Arthur had naturally chosen this moment to call.

Overwhelmed, she nonetheless took comfort in his presence, hoping his friendly voice might help distract from the fact that she was currently very much out of her element, wandering a vast and unfamiliar building and struggling against a sea of businessmen in expensive suits.

 _They're going to kick me out_ , she thought irrationally. _Soon enough someone is going to notice me. They're going to wonder what this ridiculous girl is doing here, and they're going to kick me out._

Arthur's voice drew her out of her paranoia. "Any interesting plans on the horizon?"

 _Do not panic._ _Normal conversation. I can do that._

"Plans? Umm... Well, next weekend I'm planning—oh, fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ " Gwen's eyes bugged out as she recognized a figure across the lobby. A desperate survey of her surroundings revealed a plausible hiding spot, and she scurried behind the conveniently large abstract sculpture.

_Thank God for impractical posh decor._

"...Guinevere?" Surely Arthur must be used to her spastic outbursts by now.

She shushed him and then scrunched her face, realizing nobody could probably hear him anyway.

"What is it?"

"I see someone I know," she whispered.

"Someone you don't want to see, I'm guessing?"

"Someone I very much do not want to see," she confirmed. "He's—oh, shit, he's going to see me—"

She stood up abruptly, almost dropping her purse, and rounded toward the lift, frantically stabbing at the button. _Bloody things take their sweet time, don't they?_

"What are you doing?" Arthur whispered compliantly, highly amused as she scuffled around.

"Trying to escape, but it's not really working!"

With a pleasant _ding_ the lift arrived, opening its doors at an infuriating pace. Gwen sighed in relief, scampering inside and turning around to press a button — _any_ button — that would take her somewhere else.

"Gwen?"

She made eye contact with him before she registered his voice. Her heart thumped erratically and she summoned what remained of her rational thought to quash a rising panic and retain her composure.

He looked immaculate, of course. Her eyes lingered on his cleanly shaven jaw.

She'd always liked it a bit scruffy.

"Lance," she greeted him a little shakily, shoving her phone in her pocket. "What are you doing here?"

"Just meeting someone." He seemed distracted; his eyes had lighted when he saw her, and she felt mildly uncomfortable under his appraisal as they roamed hungrily over her face.

"Oh," she huffed a disingenuous laugh. _Could she be imagining it?_

No, it was still there, even after all this time — the yearning luster in his eyes.

"It's been a long time."

She resolutely _did not_ like where this conversation was headed.

"Yeah," she said softly. The doors of the lift began to close and he remembered himself, stepping in to crowd her in the small space.

He reached over to select a button, just missing grazing her arm. _21st floor. Bloody great,_ she thought. _Gwaine Kelly, you are_ so _dead._

"Where are you headed?" he asked. He was so close; so familiar, yet entirely a stranger to her. Her mind drew a blank.

"Just, uh, running some errands and such, then meeting up with some friends." She hoped she didn't sound too pathetic.

"Er... which floor?" he clarified. Her face grew hot with embarrassment as she realized her mistake.

"Um...12, please." She hastily picked a floor at random, then cursed herself internally for not having chosen something lower.

He chuckled, finally standing back beside her to face the door.

This was better. None of the direct eye contact. It brought back too much.

"I always enjoyed that." She thought she could see him smiling smugly to himself in her periphery, but she dared not sneak a glance.

"What?" she sputtered, and her voice sounded tiny and fragile. She hated it.

 _Third floor_.

"The way you blush, at anything really. You never really learned to mask your expressions."

A tide of annoyance battled a swell of nostalgia as he crooked a knowing smile next to her, and she hated that he'd made her feel that. It wasn't fair.

"It's lovely. I always thought so," he added quickly when she was quiet.

 _Fourth floor_.

Gwen froze, widening her eyes in disbelief, grateful that he wasn't looking at her. How was she meant to respond to that?

She cleared her throat dismissively. "How's your father?"

It was a safe enough topic, she thought. They had bonded magnificently when her and Lance were...well, what they were.

"He's well. Retired last year, but still doing the odd guest lecture here and there. I'm afraid he's too tempted by new blood to turn down the invitations." Lance chuckled. "You know, you can take the man out of Oxford, and all that. But yes, he's quite well."

She smiled genuinely now, picturing David presenting one of his more sensational lectures to a crowd of wide-eyed freshmen. He had some colorful methods of capturing their attention, to say the least.

"Misses you," he tacked on before she could respond.

_Fifth floor._

Her smile fell, and once again she found words caught in her throat. What was he getting at? She felt like she was playing minesweeper, only with much higher stakes.

"Oh, me too," she said, meaning it. "Give him my love, will you?"

 _Probably not the best choice of words_ , a small, clinical part of her conscience chirped.

Lance was silent a moment, but then he nodded. "Of course. He'll be glad to hear it. He's always asking me where you got off to."

Gwen didn't need to look at him to sense the tension in his body as he stood rigidly beside her, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

Instead, she made a study of the floor.

"I'm sure he knows..." she started without thinking, but was unable to finish the thought.

"I never told him," Lance said brusquely, leaving her agape.

The silence yawned unbearably between them.

___Sixth floor_._ _

_Yep, mine detonated. Game over._

"He...thought it was me, that screwed up. Couldn't imagine that it would have been you. Naturally, I didn't want to disappoint him."

She couldn't help herself from glancing at him now, his expression caught somewhere between bitterness and amusement.

 _He hadn't told his father?_ _But, why?_

 _"_ You should," she managed eventually. "You should tell him it wasn't your fault."

 _Seventh floor_.

As much as she dreaded rehashing the past, it pained her to think his father had thought him careless, capable of letting a good thing go.

He looked at her then, and there was no attempt to mask the raw pain in his eyes. It was still there, fresh as the last day she'd seen him, and she felt crushed beneath the weight of it.

"Gwen, I wanted to—"

But before he could finish the lift had eased to a halt, and Gwen tore her eyes from Lance's anguished expression as the doors slid open to admit a stern looking businessman. He was dressed impeccably in a charcoal grey suit and deep red tie embroidered with a curious golden dragon. Gwen's eyes immediately fixated on the matching kerchief that protruded neatly from his breast pocket, desperate for distraction.

Her heart leapt in her chest as she realized her chance, and she lurched forward, throwing her arm out to keep the doors from closing on her. She threw one last glance behind her to find Lance staring confusedly after her.

"I've got to go!" she called, hurling herself into the corridor.

"This isn't your stop!" she heard him call after her as the doors closed, and she spun around to rest against the wall.

She slumped down to the floor, closing her eyes and exhaling. It was a graceless escape, but she felt immediately relieved.

"What was that about?"

Gwen tossed her head, seeking the source of the voice as she desperately sought some half-arsed excuse as to why she was collapsed on the pristine carpet of... _where was she, anyway?_

She looked toward the opposite wall for a placard announcing the owner of the suite, but found only a few tastefully framed photos of vintage ads.

"Guinevere?" the small voice seemed to be coming from the vicinity in her lap, and she looked down toward the bulge in her pocket.

" _Arthur?_ Are you still there?" _Hadn't she hung up?_

"Um...you uh, forgot to hang up, I think. Who _was_ that?"

Gwen sighed. "So you heard all that, did you?"

"Kinda hard not to. Felt like I was intruding, but it also felt wrong to leave you alone in the midst of it. Sorry if you didn't want me to hear that."

"No, it's okay. I trust you, and I'd probably be telling you about it anyway. I'm just trying to process what the hell just happened."

"This...Lance guy, you dated him?"

"Yeah. For about three years."

"Whoa. So, more than dating. What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

Gwen looked around to make sure no one was coming, then tucked her legs beneath her to sit more comfortably. This might take a while.

"It's sort of a long story, but basically I realized I didn't love him as much as I should have."

"So...you left?"

She nodded vacantly, her mind flashing with images from their parting. How devastated he'd been. How devastated _she'd_ been.

"Did you?"

Realizing he couldn't see her, she shook her head to focus on the conversation again. "I did."

"Wow," Arthur sounded impressed. "That's brutal. Did he see it coming?"

"Probably not," she sighed again, feeling the familiar guilt seep in.

"This is probably going to come out wrong, and I obviously don't know the whole story, but... I think you're very brave, Gwen."

"What?" _Brave?_ That's _what he was pulling from this story?_ _A coward, more like_. So she'd thought for the past two years away from him.

"I think a lot of people would stay, having invested that much time in a relationship. It's a very difficult decision to make, when you're comfortable and you've spent all that time getting to know someone and letting them get to know you. It's...a huge step to let yourself recognize that it isn't enough, and you don't have to settle."

Gwen was silent. She'd never thought of it that way.

"Most people are too afraid to deal with the fallout of walking away from a relationship like that. I mean, there are the mutual friends—"

Gwen recalled the hurt and betrayal in Tristan's eyes when he had first seen her after the breakup. The three of them had been close. Isolde, too, grew cold toward her.

"The awkward family questions—"

She thought of Lance, letting his father believe he'd hurt her somehow, that he'd taken her for granted. She wondered what his father thought of him. And his sister, Freya, who'd taken instantly to Gwen. What had he told her?

"Then there's all the shared possessions, assuming you lived together—"

A barrage of images flooded her mind, of the cozy little home they'd made together in his flat; of all the personal, feminine touches she'd added that he'd never complained about, just smiled tenderly at her. They were just odds and ends at first, but soon enough they had become cohesive; a perfect representation of who they were as a couple.

She remembered fondly the small kitchen where they cooked, or didn't cook, together, and the elaborate collection of seashells he'd painstakingly built when he learned she liked them.

She'd surrendered less important, if not sentimental, items in the hopes of not drawing the whole thing out. A good deal of her DVD collection. Her favorite mug. The small plant he'd given her to tend when she first moved in with him.

And she thought she might still have one of his jumpers that she'd stolen when it was too cold to get out of bed in her pajamas but too early to put on real clothes. There was a photo album buried somewhere that she'd carefully ignored, and a sketch of her with an eery likeness that he'd done before they'd made the transition from friends to lovers.

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly to ward off one of the most haunting memories that she'd thought she'd buried deep enough: of the small velvet box that she'd discovered in one of his jacket pockets when she'd thought to do his laundry one day.

Arthur's calm voice tore the painful thought away, only to replace it with another. "And, of course, all the places you went together—"

Her favorite Irish pub, The Poet. The old movie theatre just blocks from their flat, and the farmer's market that set up every Tuesday and Thursday morning.

Surely it wasn't too much to sacrifice, was it?

But no, every time she wondered if she regretted it, she came to the same conclusion.

She was single. Her job left quite a bit to be desired, and her flat might be described as modest, at best. But she knew she was being honest with herself, and that she was slowly, quietly, diligently building a happy life. She didn't have it all at the moment, but there were so many possibilities, and that was what excited her.

This was how it was supposed to be.

"I did us both a favor," she said as suddenly as she realized it. And if the weight hadn't completely lifted from her heart, it had lightened significantly. "I saved us both."

Arthur didn't speak now, and she was grateful as she let this newfound understanding sink in.

"You're right, Arthur," she said finally. "I hurt us both, and it was _hard,_ but I needed to do it." _  
_

"It's always hard," he agreed. "But you made a decision for the betterment of both of your lives."

"I...did."

She had a lot of re-writing to do where it came to her memories of her relationship with Lance. It was easy to think of the good times, and perhaps the very bad times (i.e. The End), but harder to pull from the obscurity of her memory were all the times when she had felt the sick uneasiness of discontent that only settled over her in the lonely, quiet hours of the night when she'd slept beside him, his arms wrapped lovingly around her small frame.

The familiar _ding_ of the nearby lift drew her back to the present, and she remembered once more where she was.

She wiped the dampness from her cheeks and drew in a deep breath, her spirits lifted.

"Er...have you ever considered the profession of therapy, Arthur?" she teased, only half kidding, as she unfolded her limbs. One of her feet had gone numb.

He laughed softly, and it was the sort of comforting sound she'd come to count on. That was it. She'd come to count on _Arthur_. His insight, his support, his caring patience - none of it surprised her anymore. It was just there for her, whenever she needed it. Sometimes when she didn't even _know_ she needed it.

"Eh, too many nutters. I prefer to save my wisdom for the lost souls of call operators."

"And good thing, too." Gwen found herself smiling.

As she hung up, Gwen realized she'd completely missed her window for the drop off.

She might have felt less guilty considering what she'd been through for what was meant to be a simple favor, but she knew it wasn't really Gwaine's fault. She was overdue to run into her ex, and as unprepared and uncomfortable as she'd been, it had lead to a fruitful conversation with Arthur and an understanding that would undoubtedly let her sleep easier.

Gwen had never experienced Gwaine's anger directed at her, but she supposed there was a first time for everything.

Like the curious sensation of butterflies in her stomach; something she hadn't earnestly felt or recognized in a long while.


	11. Chapter 11

"You wanna see that movie tonight?" Arthur called after Merlin when he saw him drift past his bedroom on the way to the kitchen.

Merlin reappeared, leaning against the door frame.

"Nah, Mo and I are meeting her friends for dinner. Hey, you wanna come along? I'm sure she wouldn't mind, as long as you two don't get into it over politics again."

Arthur considered it, but wasn't sure he'd be up for it, especially after the previous night's events. Besides, he hadn't spoken to Gwen in nearly two days (upon her insistence), and he'd relish the opportunity to have the flat to himself while he talked to her. "No, you go ahead, I've some stuff to get done around here anyway."

"Like what? Doing your washing for once? Or hey, what about that Vivian chick, you ever get something planned with her?"

Merlin had apparently made it his personal mission to get Arthur laid since he'd somehow hit the jackpot with Morgana. It was amusing at first, to see his hopeless dolt of a flatmate suddenly blossom with an actual relationship, some kind of a social life, and progress in his career, but Arthur got the impression that Merlin felt guilty about it for some reason. Like he was leaving Arthur behind, or something.

It was nonsense. But it was all Arthur could think of to account for the endless harassment.

He'd thought he'd earned some slack after going out with Merlin and Morgana the previous night, but apparently the man was more concerned about Arthur's deteriorated social life than Arthur had realized. It was meant to be a sort of last hurrah, or at least a temporary distraction, before Arthur had to return to work, but Merlin clearly saw the dread return to Arthur's countenance as soon as they had come home. Enough that he didn't mind Arthur being the third wheel in his relationship, apparently.

Arthur was touched by his concern, but he felt like he was under too much scrutiny. First his father, and now Merlin?

"Er…yeah, actually. I forgot I was going to try to meet up with her tonight. You know…if you want to stay at Morgana's that would be great."

In truth, he hadn't seen Vivian since his encounter with her in the stairwell a few days before. He was more than a little relieved when she hadn't come knocking on their door the next day.

Merlin narrowed his eyes, and Arthur hoped he wasn't suspicious. But then he just gave him his customary shove of affection, apparently satisfied. "Good on you, mate. Alright, I'll stay at hers. But listen: kitchen and living room are off limits. I've done you the courtesy, so—"

"Yeah, don't worry about it." Arthur waved his hand dismissively. "Just bugger off, will you? I should get ready."

* * *

"Why are you whispering? Are you in a library or something?" Arthur laughed. She _would_ be.

"No! I'm not at home. Well, actually I _am_ at home. I'm visiting my mum."

"Which is…where?"

"Hang on," she whispered, and he heard the squeak of a door closing, followed by a swishing sound and the crunch of what was probably gravel beneath her feet. "A couple hours north. It's a small village and you've never heard of it. So can we skip the part where you tease me about being a small town girl?"

"Hmm…for now, I suppose. But I'm storing that information for future reference."

She sighed. "I'd expect nothing less. So did I miss anything? It was sort of weird not talking to you yesterday."

"I know. For me, too. I did go out with Merlin and Morgana, though."

"Arthur! I'm proud of you. Forsaking your life as a hermit, at last. What'd you do?"

"I'm not a hermit! I'd like to see what you'd be getting up to, having to tote a set of crutches everywhere, looking ridiculous. I'm just learning to appreciate the freedom again."

"As a matter of fact, I broke my ankle when I was 17."

"Wait…really? How'd you do that?"

"Sports injury. And I had crutches for almost three months."

"Dear God, I take it back. Three months at that age would be torture."

"I know, can you imagine?"

He couldn't. "I bet you rocked it."

"I did. Went to prom _and_ went on a camping holiday."

"Well, now I feel extremely lazy. Thank you for that, Guinevere. I _did_ make it to a cafe once."

She giggled. "Quite an accomplishment, that. You're fine now though, so you can make up for it. So you went out…?"

"I went out—we went to this karaoke bar—"

"Oh my god, yes." The glee in her voice was unmistakable.

"You are way too excited."

"This story can only end brilliantly. You, in a karaoke bar. _You_. I'd pay good money from my paltry wages to see that."

"For the record, I'm not a bad singer. But I wasn't going to sing anyway. I just went for the cheap drinks."

"I've heard you sing. Remember when you pretended to be an old man who couldn't figure out where the music was coming from on his computer, and you insisted on demonstrating the 'sounds' you were hearing?"

"That wasn't my real voice!"

"Uh huh, I'm sure you're a regular angel. Now what happened?"

He inhaled sharply. "I may or may not have gotten into a drinking contest with the owner."

She guffawed. "How did you manage _that_?"

"Well…they've got this deal where if you can down a sake bomb faster than him then everything's on the house."

"Do I even need to ask how this ended?"

"Look, the guy's practically a professional! He had his glass back on the table before I could even pick mine up!"

"So, naturally, you challenged him again?"

It scared him a little, how well she knew him already. He coughed. "Well…"

"Arthur, you realize that contest only exists so that people will spend more money?"

"Worked on me. What can I say?"

She laughed. "I bet you're easy, aren't you?"

"Ooh, venturing into some scandalous territory now, are we, Guinevere?"

"Answer the question," she commanded.

He considered a moment. "I _can_ be…but it depends who's asking. And is there pizza involved?"

She snorted. "Always."

"Then yes, I'm all yours."

"His price is pizza," she commented dryly. "Well, you're a cheap date, I'll give you that."

"Why, are we going on a date?" He kept his tone light, but he realized he desperately wanted her to say yes.

"No!" she said, a little too quickly, laughing. And then: "Er…you know what I meant! Back to the story. So you're hopelessly sloshed. What were Merlin and Morgana doing?"

"Mostly laughing at me, snogging, or trying to pick out a song."

"Did they sing something?"

"They tried…"

"But?"

"I, ah, _apparently_ told them they were doing it wrong and decided to step in."

"Oh my god, what was the song, Arthur?" She asked as if the fate of the universe rested in his reply.

"Ticket to Ride."

He was met with her raucous laughter, but she quickly attempted to quiet herself.

"You're enjoying this too much. I think I need to cut you off."

"Yes, the neighbors are not pleased."

"What is it, nine-thirty? Are you in a retirement village or something?"

"No! But you know how these places are. Or maybe you don't. Any noise over a polite cough after seven pm is considered a ruckus. If you can imagine, teenage Gwen was not very popular."

"Probably not, with a mouth like that."

" _Hey_ , I keep it clean around the old timers. So do I get an encore performance?"

"Now that's _not_ cheap. That'll cost you at least six sake bombs."

" _Six?_ Jesus. Frankly, I'm surprised I didn't hear from you."

"You said you'd be busy! See, I'm considerate, even when I'm hopelessly drunk."

"I guess you are, then," she conceded. "Although I am just slightly disappointed that you didn't drunk dial me; I'm sure it would have been entertaining."

"Hmm...well, I learned a new one last night from the chef, if it'll make it up to you?

"We'll see. Give it a shot."

"Why don't crabs like to share? Because they're shellfish."

Gwen giggled, unable to keep a straight face. "You know, you're going to make a fantastic father, if the awful dad jokes are any indication."

It was a harmless jibe disguised as a compliment, but his laughter rapidly dissipated, leaving a charged silence in its wake.

"...Arthur?" _  
_

She heard his breath hitch.

"Do you…." His voice cracked, betraying the weight of the question, and he cleared his throat. "Do you really think so?"

Gwen's heart constricted in her chest as she realized that he was entirely serious. She'd unwittingly struck a nerve.

 _Right, daddy issues._ Her poor friend was traumatized.

"Arthur," Her voice softened, all traces of humor vanished now, and suddenly she wished more than ever that she could see his face, touch him somehow. "Of course you will be. You're incredible. Any child would be lucky to call you their father."

He heaved a sigh, and she wondered if it was relief or disbelief.

"I mean it," she finished solemnly, hoping it would sink in.

"Thank you, Guinevere," he finally replied, and she could tell he was just holding himself together. She'd really caught him off guard. "You mean a lot to me, you know that?"

She did, and she smiled, trying to imagine his face, but like always finding it impossible. In her mind, he was ever-shifting, her imagination insufficient as she constantly attempted to piece together everything she'd learned of this complex person she'd come to know. She kept having to remind herself that he was real.

Very real.

And there were many things that she had yet to learn about him. She supposed she was fooling herself if she thought she knew him completely.

"I know exactly," Gwen answered, and the sentiment was returned in the tenderness of her voice. "How's it going anyway? Did you start back at work yet?"

"Monday, actually," he sighed. "The dinner went...as expected, but my father sent me home with some files and gave me the rest of the week to catch up and 'get myself together.' Whatever that means."

She cleared her throat, and Arthur braced himself for what he knew was coming. He supposed he'd avoided the topic long enough.

"What…um, what exactly is it, between you and him?" she asked delicately, and Arthur knew she wouldn't really mind if he deflected as he usually did.

But instead he sighed. "It's complicated. There's a lot of stuff in the past but right now I'm just exhausted by his expectations. He's basically been grooming me since birth to follow his footsteps, but he's given me no choice in the matter."

"He wants you to take over for him?"

"Basically. And he hasn't allowed anyone else enough insight to replace him. So when he steps out, either I'll have to be there to fill the void or the business crumbles. Either way it's on me."

"What do _you_ want to do?" she asked softly.

"Honestly, I don't know. I'd just like to have the choice. Try different things. Get some experience in a different industry, maybe."

He could never predict where their conversation would turn. With Gwen, he could be curling in on himself with laughter one moment and divulging his deepest anxieties in the next. Yet somehow, it was never forced. She made it easy.

"I'm sorry."

"It's unfair, but I know I'm very fortunate in a lot of other ways, so…"

"That doesn't mean it isn't important, Arthur. You deserve the chance to make your own choices in life. You're the one that's always saying I shouldn't let anyone get in the way of my happiness."

"I know," he sighed. "I'm a bit of a hypocrite, I suppose, but I just haven't figured out how to do it myself yet. Instead I've just kind of been rebelling against him in little, petty ways."

She gave a small chuckle. "Like what?"

"Like…moving in with Merlin. Father doesn't have a real problems with him aside from his 'crime' of being middle-class, but he was trying to pick me out some state of the art bachelor flat near him, and I couldn't stand it."

"He wanted you to live near him, too?"

"I guess seeing him at work every day wasn't enough. I don't get it, either. He's never been particularly affectionate, and he doesn't seem to care what I'm interested in. He's just always looking ahead, deciding what the next step will be for me."

"You're his son. His _only_ son. He obviously cares for you. He just has an odd way of showing it."

"He does have an uncanny way of suffocating me without making me feel like I'm actually…" he trailed off as he started to feel foolish.

"Actually what?" She waited patiently.

He cleared his throat. "Nothing," he said quietly. While a small part of him was rolling his eyes at himself for all the self-pity, so too was there a deep ache that he was accustomed to pushing down.

"He loves you, Arthur." Her voice was soft and sure in a way that made him want to believe her. "That's why he wants you so close. Maybe he just doesn't know how to say it."

"I'm sure he doesn't," Arthur could agree with that. He could barely imagine Uther having displayed the requisite affection necessary to produce a son, all those years ago. Still, his heart warmed a little at her confidence.

"My father told me he loved me every day," Gwen told him. "Maybe not always with words, but he found other ways to show me. Sometimes it's hard to see, when you're so close to it. And it might feel suffocating, but Arthur, when I look back I realize that everything he did for me he did out of love. But it took me years and—" she faltered briefly, "separation…to get that perspective."

Arthur was quiet, considering her words.

"I don't know your father," she continued, "but maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt. You are all he has."

That much was true, he realized. His father may have poured his life into his business, but what did he have to show for it?

Plenty of money, sure. Property. Profitable partnerships.

Friends? No. _Sycophants. Hangers-on. Leeches_. He knew them all.

It was one of the reasons he so dreaded being Uther's successor.

In fact, his father had few things that Arthur envied.

 _But he has a son_. _He has me. And I can barely suffer to have dinner with him once a month._

And as he said goodnight to the woman who was quickly becoming one of the most important figures in his life, Arthur realized something else.

 _He doesn't have a Guinevere_.

That singular thought was enough to sober him; to turn his thoughts from self-pity to sympathy.

He stared blankly at the ceiling, contemplating his father's loneliness and vowing to make a difference, however small it might be.


	12. Chapter 12

"Gwen." She swiveled in her chair when she heard Linda call her name.

"This one's for you, honey. Line six."

Gwen frowned, wondering why Linda would pass a call onto her.

Straightening up, she patched the call through with her tired salutation.

"How come your extension only works sometimes?" Arthur whined.

"Clearly you're doing something wrong. What's it today then, forgot how to check your email?"

She'd become accustomed to Arthur calling her in the evening, but he still occasionally slipped calls in while she was at work. And as much as she hated that she still had to restrict her conversation, it was always a pleasant surprise to hear from him during her day when she was least expecting it.

"Wow, that's quite a lot of sass, Miss Operator. Maybe I should file a complaint."

She could hear him stifling a snicker while she rattled off the scripted response they used to placate customers who threatened to complain. He'd heard it enough times as a formality, she thought he'd be tired of it, but apparently he was in a button-pushing mood.

"Oh, no, that won't be necessary."

"Mmm, and what can I do for you then, _sir_?" she retaliated, trying to hide the smile from her voice.

"I would have waited to call—er, I mean, I'm working from home today and - I honestly fucked it up again."

Gwen tried not to giggle, but knowing Arthur personally had made it increasingly difficult to maintain a professional façade when she spoke to him.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"It's not working again. I swear, Guinevere!"

"Have you tried—"

"Yes, yes, you know I have! I think I might _actually_ need an upgrade. I'm sort of feeling like the boy who cried wolf here."

Gwen rolled her eyes. She didn't know if he was pulling her leg or not, but for appearance's sake she knew she had to follow through with it.

But something in her periphery caught her attention: Gwaine was waving at her frantically.

Gwen raised her eyebrows at him, pointing to her headset. _I'm on a call, you idiot!_

He persisted and she rolled her eyes again, sighing.

"Arthur, can you hold on for just a moment?"

"Yes, dear."

She smiled, swiveling in her seat to find that Gwaine was right in front of her suddenly, reaching over her shoulder to press the 'mute' function before she could put him on hold.

"Performance reviews!" he whispered loudly.

"What?" she furrowed her brow, pulling off her headset to let it rest around her neck.

"They're doing performance reviews this week, starting _today_."

"Wait, _what?_ Why haven't I heard anything about it?"

"I don't know, it's some sort of bullshit ambush or something. They just took Brian in and I'm next."

She shook her head. "So your first instinct was to interrupt one of my calls?"

He rolled his eyes. "You'll be fine, lass, they're not going to listen to your calls from _today_." He looked away for a moment. "At least…I don't _think_ so…"

"Shit." It was all she could think as the reality sunk in.

What if they had been listening to her calls? She hadn't been inappropriate, had she? Her memory had gone a little fuzzy concerning the calls with Arthur. She was starting to have a hard time distinguishing the conversations she'd had with him at work from the ones she'd had on her mobile.

"Don't—" Gwaine sighed, gripping her shoulders as if he could contain her anxiety. "Really, you'll be fine, princess. I just wanted to warn you in case you're up soon. I think they're going through the Sales jocks first, but I'm not sure since they've just sprung this on us. Just be ready."

She nodded, taking a deep breath. She caught Leon's eye from across the room and she could see he was just as nervous.

It was just a routine procedure, right? But she hadn't had a performance review since her first month working there, when she'd done everything strictly by the book.

"You can handle it. If they give you any crap, just give them a good sorting like you did to me," he winked.

She laughed at that, and her eyes followed him as he slunk back to his desk. Still smiling from the scenario he'd planted in her head, she readjusted her headset and reached to unmute the call, but something stopped her.

"…with her?" she heard a voice in the background. It sounded like Merlin.

Intrigued, she decided to listen in for a moment longer, hoping it might give her something to tease Arthur about. It was what he deserved, after all.

"Yeah, it was a good night."

Who were they talking about? Morgana? Or had Arthur finally told Merlin who he'd been talking to all this time?

"So...? You shagged her senseless, or what?" Merlin prodded.

"Might have," Arthur said nonchalantly, and she could hear Merlin guffaw.

Gwen was confused.

"Thank god for small mercies. So she won't be hovering around our flat any more? Or does this mean she's going to be here all the time now?"

She suddenly felt sick.

Arthur had never mentioned he'd been seeing someone. How could she have… O _h god_ , she felt like throwing up.

"If she's up for it. Might need a few days to recover, since we were up all—"

She'd heard enough. Before Gwen could process another word he said, her hand was scrabbling at the hook switch, disconnecting the call.

There was a sick weight in her stomach, tightening and churning, thrashing around at her innards. Her face felt hot, but flashed with an icy cold. She pulled her headset off and tilted her head back, breathing deeply.

"Sweetie, are you alright? You look pale."

She barely managed to nod at Linda, attempting to ward off her attention. She appreciated her colleague's concern, but she didn't think she could open her mouth now lest she puke on someone. Instead she stood up slowly, activated her away signal, and stole off to the toilets.

She plunked down in an empty stall, thankful the toilets in her office had lids. Dipping her head between her knees, she worked on controlling her breathing.

So Arthur had a girlfriend.

Girlfriends? Someone he slept with. Possibly many someones he slept with. _What's the problem?_

He'd never mentioned any of them.

In fact, he'd led her to believe he was single. Hadn't he? She racked her brain, trying to isolate a conversation in which he might have mentioned it. Sure, he'd alluded to _past_ relationships, but had he ever mentioned a current one?

It wasn't like she had some sort of _claim_ on him, anyway. After all, they'd never explicitly spoken about whatever weird arrangement they had going on. As far as Arthur was concerned, they could just be good friends, and nothing more.

_Oh god_. Was it possible? Had she misconstrued the whole thing? Dreamed up some imaginary connection between them when he'd never seen her as more than a buddy to chat with when he got bored?

But then, why wouldn't he mention it? And if he'd left that not-so-little detail out, _what else wasn't he telling her?_

* * *

Arthur was puzzled when the call dropped, but when he called back and couldn't get through to her, he figured it might've had something to do with her boss.

Later that evening, when she wasn't answering her mobile, he tried texting her instead.

_You ok?_

The response came nearly twenty minutes later.

_I'm fine. Don't want to talk right now._

Uh oh, what did that mean? She was clearly upset about something. And normally she'd jump at the chance to talk to him about it.

Unless…he wondered if she could possibly be upset with _him?_

He couldn't fathom what she might be upset about. She'd sounded perfectly happy, if a little annoyed when he'd spoken to her before. Somehow their call had disconnected, but she was gone by the time he'd called back.

That was odd. Usually when that happened it was because Arthur needed to hang up.

But if _she'd_ hung up…what would make her do that? He'd just been asking about the upgrade, she'd put him on hold, and then…

O _h. Fuck._

Could she have heard his conversation with Merlin? The conversation in which he'd acted like a complete prat, bullshitting about hooking up with Vivian?

He'd thought he'd been on hold, but come to think about it, he supposed there hadn't been any hold music or anything. Just silence.

Fuck. _Fuck_. How was he going to explain this one without sounding like an idiot? Scratch that. How was he going to get her to talk to him so he _could_ explain it?

_She probably thinks I'm a complete wanker now._

She was getting his texts, at least. Maybe he could write her a message, and she didn't have to talk to him if she didn't want to.

_Guinevere, it's not what you think,_ he tried. It was cliché, and totally useless, but it was all he could think of to catch her attention.

Ten minutes later he received a response: _It's not my business apparently, so it doesn't matter what I think_.

He sighed. She was definitely upset with him, but at least she was still talking to him. He felt anxious when he realized this was his only connection to her. If she decided not to take his calls, that would be it. He didn't have her email, her address, or even her last name for that matter.

_Note to self: get more of her information if you're ever back in her good graces_.

He thought out his next text carefully.

_I'm not seeing anyone. I wouldn't keep that from you._

_I guess we have different definitions of what 'seeing' means,_ she shot back.

_Can we please talk? I need to hear your voice. I need you to hear me._

He waited another five minutes before his phone began to buzz.

"Guinevere," he answered with a sigh.

"Well?" she prompted, and even the one word seemed saturated with hurt.

_Had he done that?_ Christ, maybe he _was_ an arsehole.

"Look, I know what it sounded like, but I swear to god, I was just trying to get Merlin off my back about this girl."

Gwen was silent but she hadn't hung up, which he took as a sign of hope. He imagined she was probably sitting there with steam coming out of her ears.

"It sounds stupid, but he's been really on my case about…well, sort of being a loser, since I haven't been out much lately. There's this girl and he keeps asking me if I'm going to ask her out, and I finally told him that I did. Even though I didn't. Even though I don't want to. I just…wanted him to give it a rest, is all. I had no idea you heard me, and I'm really sorry you had to hear that. That wasn't me. Not really."

He drew confidence from her soft and steady breathing on the line.

"Honestly, the night he thought I was on a date with her, I was actually just talking to you. I mean, do you think I could actually carry on a relationship when I spend so much time talking to _you_?"

He realized he might have sounded a little accusatory. "I mean-what I mean is I _enjoy_ talking to you. It's what I'd rather be doing..."

She sighed, sounding a little less angry now. "Take the foot out of your mouth, Arthur. We never…I mean, _I_ never asked you to tell me…I just thought—I don't know what I thought…"

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. They were on one of those _things_. What are those things called? _A precipice_. They were on a precipice. He could feel it.

_Don't fuck this up_.

"No, you were right," he said. "I can't imagine what you must have thought when you heard it. I should have told you about her before, only there was nothing to tell. I haven't even gone on a single date with her, or anyone else for that matter since I, um, met you. I don't even want to."

"Arthur, really, you don't have to explain to me. We're not—"

"Don't say it," he snapped. "Don't you dare say that this isn't anything. Because it _is_ , and you know it."

She was quiet, and he wondered if it was good or bad. He didn't care. For once he was happy to just be honest with her about his feelings. Hell, to be honest with himself.

He continued. "I know we haven't…we haven't really discussed it, but you can't tell me that this… _thing_ between you and me is just…it's more than that."

"Arthur…"

"I'm not saying we have to name it. I'm just saying that I'm not going to ignore it anymore, and neither are you. You mean something to me, and I know it's the same for you."

"Okay," she breathed, finally.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good," he said somberly. He cleared his throat, softening his tone. His heart suddenly felt like he'd been running a marathon, but he had the momentum.

It was now or never.

"So…when do I get to meet you, for real?" he asked tentatively.

"What?" she practically choked.

"Don't you think it's about time?"

"I—I don't know…I hadn't... I guess so?"

He laughed. "You don't sound so sure."

She gave a small chuckle, and he felt calmed with the sound of it. "You just caught me off guard, that's all. You surprise me, the way you can flip it on and off."

"Flip what on and off? You're not changing the subject, are you?"

"No! No," she laughed. "I'm just saying. One second you're all dark and stormy and the next you sound…I don't know, nervous?"

"Mmm, who do you think I learned that from? You're the professional."

"Oh please! You were like that from the moment we started talking." Her breath hitched. "But um…yeah," she said, suddenly shy. "I think…it would be really nice. To, um, see you."

Arthur's chest flooded with warmth. She wanted to meet him.

"Yeah?" he said softly, smiling.

"Yeah," She replied, and he could hear the answering smile in her voice.

"Well, fuck, that's brilliant!" he beamed enthusiastically, and Gwen burst into giggles.

It felt like flying.


	13. Chapter 13

By all rights, Gwen should have been relieved.

She had made it through the week without being called in for a review at work, and she'd somehow budgeted enough that she had extra spending money after paying rent and bills for the month.

And as wretched as she'd felt about the misunderstanding with Arthur, it had brought her some peace. Not only did he dispel her fears that she'd misread him, he had confirmed what she was too afraid to admit even to herself.

 _You mean something to me_ , he'd said. _And I know it's the same for you_.

But despite it all, their imminent plans to meet left her grappling with increasing apprehension.

How was she meant to act around him, when she didn't even understand what was between them?

It wasn't that she had never fantasized about meeting him, but somehow the prospect was as troubling as it was exciting.

Until now it had been simple, the rapport they'd built, and quick to become ingrained in her daily life.

Not habit, nor function, nor chore, but easy and necessary all the same. Like a tonic for her well-being; a comfort she wouldn't dream of forfeiting.

Just those few minutes when she could hear his voice, and everything was right in the world.

Whether she was on her lunch break in the park, or at home soaking in the tub or bundled up on her sofa; on speakerphone, while she talked him through preparing a large batch of soup like he was a guest on her own personal cooking show; riding the bus, where other passengers habitually threw her dirty looks for daring to interrupt their sleep.

Even as she brushed her teeth, laughing hysterically while Arthur struggled to decipher what she was saying with limited use of her tongue.

It was so very easy, and it was about to become even easier.

Which made it much, much more complicated.

Because for better or worse things would change, and she was still undecided whether she welcomed it.

Perhaps not, after she'd practically built up a fantasy of him.

What if he had done the same for her?

Gwen blew out a breath, the frizzy tendrils that hung over her forehead flailing. It was hard to ignore her own reflection in passing, and harder still to remain uncritical. Looking herself over in the full length mirror, she wondered what Arthur might notice first.

She was short and plain, that was for sure, but heels and a bit of make up might remedy that.

Her hair was virtually never cooperative, except for some infuriating reason on those rare days when she staged a lie-in and there was no one to appreciate it.

Maybe he would think her too childlike, with speckled nose and cheeks and shoulders branded by the sun.

Gwen traced the uneven patch of skin where a tiny chickenpox scar marred her forehead. The habit itself was a comfort, but it did little to raise her self-esteem.

In the natural course of meeting people, she was content to allow her quirks and charms to win new friends, but Arthur already knew that side of her.

They might not have made the best first impressions of each other, but now there was a chance for another. And with the weight of anticipation and expectations, she was almost certain to disappoint him.

Most frustrating of all was that she couldn't talk to him about how nervous she was. There were too many implications to that admission that she wasn't prepared to face.

What she really needed was a boost of confidence.

So she settled for describing her predicament as vaguely as possible as she helped Mary move that weekend.

"I don't get it, did you meet him online?" her friend asked, hefting one box on top of another by the door.

Their progress was slow going, but it was definitely there. The walls of Mary's apartment were bare, as were the bulk of her drawers and cupboards, the contents stowed with varying degrees of neatness into dozens of boxes.

"No, more like...through a friend," Gwen fibbed, wondering if by any stretch of the imagination her dreaded place of employment could be counted as such.

_More like through a hell hole._ _  
_

"So like a blind date, then?"

"Do you really need this many books?" Gwen stretched another length of tape to seal the box between her knees, scrawling a label over it with a marker. Grunting across the floor with feeble shoves, she eventually gave up and used her feet for leverage, sliding it to join the others.

"Some people actually read the books they buy," Mary replied pointedly. "Well, _is it_?"

"You know what? I'm actually learning the error of my ways. I have a book on hold at the library."

" _Gwen_."

"Okay, _yes_ , it's like a blind date. Except I'm not sure if it's a date. Is there such a thing as a blind date between friends?"

"Only for people who are too afraid to admit it's a date," she said, confirming Gwen's fears. "You're worried about what to wear, aren't you?"

Gwen wilted on the couch, one of the only remaining furnishings in the sparse flat. "I just want to look my best, while seeming like I haven't put too much or too little thought into it," she scoffed at herself. "Is that horrible?"

Her friend bubbled with laughter. "No, it's completely normal. I'd be worried if you didn't. You haven't been on a proper date in ages! At least not since You Know Who."

"Let's not go there," Gwen shook her head. "I narrowly escaped that train wreck again, and I'm not very anxious to relive it."

Mary set down the vase she'd been wrapping and navigated the maze of objects strewn around the room until she reached a container.

Rifling through it, she selected a few garments to present to Gwen. "You'll look gorgeous in any of these."

She shook her head. "You're the best! _Oh_ ," she plucked a blue dress from the bunch. "How come I've never seen you wear this?"

Mary sat beside her with a dreamy sigh. "It's lovely, isn't it? I borrowed it from a friend at work and haven't had the guts to give it back. I wore it on holiday in Spain."

"Oh," Gwen frowned, folding it back up with care.

"What are you doing? You should definitely wear that one."

"But it's not even yours! How could I?"

"You have to! She'll never know," Mary said wickedly. "I swear her wardrobe is endless, and she spends more time with her boyfriend than anyone so she's probably naked most of the time anyway. If you don't wear it, I'll probably never give it back."

"What?" Gwen clutched it to her chest as if to protect the garment.

"I guess you don't have a choice."

"You're evil." Despite her reservations about its provenance, Gwen couldn't deny a tiny thrill as she imagined herself wearing it.

"You can thank me when you get laid," she raised her brows and stood to continue packing.

"Mary!" Gwen tossed a pillow at her. "I just want to look good. I'm not going to sleep with him."

"Yet," her friend grinned. "What's his name, anyway? Ooh, can we look him up?"

"No! That's not how we're doing things," she started to explain and turned to check her phone as it rang.

_Speak of the devil and he shall appear._

Clearing her throat, Gwen answered in a hushed tone.

"Okay, _now_ you must be in a library," Arthur chuckled.

"I'm not!" she barked a short laugh, straightening as Mary's eyes locked on her with suspicion. "I'm not," she said more seriously. "Just helping my friend move, remember?"

"Your alibi checks out this time, kid."

"Lucky for me," she sighed, but Arthur's voice began to break up. "Hello? I can't hear you. The reception is terrible in here."

"Over here!" Mary gestured wildly. "It only really works in the kitchen. Ugh, I definitely won't miss that."

Before Gwen could cross the room the call failed. Waiting a few seconds, she shrugged and tucked it back in her purse. She'd planned to call him when they finished for the day.

"Be right back," she said on her way to the toilet.

As she turned off the faucet, she could just make out the end of her ringtone going off and she hastily buried her hands in the towel to dry them, but it was too late.

"Hello?" Mary's voice was husky. "Ooh, yes she is. Who is this? Well, _hello_ _Arthur!"_

 _Sexy voice!_ she mouthed silently as Gwen emerged from the bathroom.

"Yes, in just a minute. But first tell me, do you have any friends?"

"Give me that!" Gwen snatched the phone away as Mary puckered her lips. "Hi, sorry about that."

He just laughed. "No problem at all."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I interrupt then? Mary, apparently Arthur wasn't done with—"

"Guinevere, if you give that phone back I'll..."

"You'll what?"

He just hummed. "Don't you want to hear what I've got to tell you?"

"I don't know, do I?"

"I think you do."

"Well, get on with it then."

"That work dinner got cancelled. I'm free next weekend."

The dual sensation of warmth blooming in her chest as her stomach flipped left her without words.

"Gwen?"

"Oh, yes! That's wonderful," she smiled. "Then we can...we can meet, after all."

"Yes, if you still want to..."

"Of course I do! I want to."

"Oh my god, get a room, will you?" Mary complained loudly, closing a cupboard with a bang.

Gwen hurried to end the call, agreeing they'd pick a place soon, and glared as she put her mobile away.

"Excuse me, we were just trying to have a conversation!"

"If that's what you sound like when you talk to him in public, I'm betting it's a bit less PG when it's just the two of you."

"I'm starting to think you want me to get laid more than I do."

Mary snorted. "Probably."

* * *

Their meeting (Arthur hesitated to call it a _date_ ) loomed over his schedule like a decisive final match day. If Merlin wondered about the significance of the sloppy X's approaching the a date marked only by a _G_ on their calendar, he showed no interest in finding out.

Arthur had never been so impatient for anything. It was like Christmas, or it would be if he'd ever cared that much for the holiday.

Suddenly he found himself measuring things in relation to the days and hours before he'd set eyes on her.

Approximately eleven meals before they'd share one together. Four showers, or possibly five if Merlin forgot to leave the air con on again. Two presentations at work, where he'd have to convince his father and colleagues that he was paying attention.

How many times would he ascend and descend the stairs of their building before he returned, changed for having met her and confirmed she was real?

How many sunrises and yawns and cups of tea?

It was probably unwise to put her on a pedestal. For her sake, as well as his. But he knew she was a secret kind of extraordinary. Why else would she waste her time chatting with a stranger, unless others had not realized how special she was?

He had no doubt she was beautiful. A girl like Gwen—sweeter than anyone he'd met, but a surprising biting wit and tongue to her—she had to be beautiful.

So far as he knew, at least three men close to her had noticed too. Three men lucky enough to know her, but daft enough not to deserve her.

He was almost certainly flattering himself to think that he could, but at least he'd damn well try.

"""

Life had a way of taking Arthur by surprise, or so he learned on his way to the restaurant when the fateful day finally arrived.

He'd made it twenty odd years without breaking a bone only to cock it up by sitting at home doing practically nothing.

And through some freak chance, a mundane phone call had acquainted him with someone who made it hard to remember what life was like before he'd spoken to her.

So it followed that where confidence had never failed him before, life accordingly chose a properly inconvenient moment to remind him of its irony.

For as he approached the entrance, a sudden and crippling panic seized him.

In all of his excitement, he'd hardly stopped to consider.

What if she didn't like him? What if he wasn't her _type_?

It was absurd. He had never been all that nervous around women. He drew his share of attention easily, and he could usually get a phone number with minimal effort.

The thought was almost laughable, considering the circumstances.

But with the seed of doubt sown, the damage was already done.

What if he disappointed her?

All at once his heart was pounding, and he was utterly lost for what to do next.

Arthur paced before the doors, panic rising in his chest like a wildfire.

He couldn't just leave. She was here, and he had to at least see her.

A cluster of patrons passed him, and he leapt at the opportunity, trailing close to their party to filter into the restaurant. Arthur immediately turned toward the bar, ducking into a corner and keeping his head down.

From his secluded perch he could observe with caution as the wait staff flitted around the dining room attending tables. Swiping a cocktail menu, he held it close to his face, lifting his head just high enough that he could peer over the edge.

There were mostly couples and intimate groups of friends seated in small clusters around the room.

He glimpsed an older man sitting by himself, reading a newspaper.

A young redheaded girl fed a piece of her dinner to her boyfriend across a table close by.

A woman caught his eye, slightly older than he'd been searching for, but not unpleasant looking. He thought of Gwen's warm, smoky voice and her rich laughter, trying to match it with the woman who sat expectantly.

_Could it be?_

But no, here came a man to join her. _Probably her husband._

He fantasized for a moment that Gwen had been lying all along; that she was married, to a model or a body builder perhaps, and Arthur would confront them. The other diners would gasp and scatter as the two men fought and the restaurant was left in wreckage, Arthur bursting out of the window and tumbling onto the pavement in a hail of broken glass.

Coincidentally, it was sound of a glass shattering in the kitchen that jarred him back into reality. It seemed he'd become so nervous, his mind had drifted toward hallucination as a means of escape.

With a shaky breath, Arthur made one more survey of the room to make sure he hadn't overlooked anyone.

Maybe Gwen was nervous too, and had decided not to come.

"Can I get you something to drink, sir?" A server appeared out of nowhere to obscure Arthur's view, pen poised over a notepad.

"No, I'm fine, thank you." Distracted, Arthur waved him away, and the man nodded and left him.

And that's when he saw her.

_It had to be her._

A girl—a _woman_ , sitting in a dimly lit corner, her back to him. Dark curls spilled down her back over a simple yet elegant blue dress, fitted sleeves covering her arms just to the elbow. She sat rather primly in her seat, and the way she fidgeted suggested she was kneading her hands beneath the table. As she tilted her head to look out the window, the candlelight highlighted the warm brown glow of her skin and set the small ornament in her hair a-twinkle.

He had stopped breathing and was leaning in his stool to steal a glimpse of her face, but she did not cooperate, her head still turned away.

From what little he could see, she was nothing like he'd imagined, but as he examined her movements he found that she was so undeniably _Gwen_ that he suddenly couldn't remember what he _had_ imagined before.

Arthur swallowed, wishing he'd asked for a glass of water after all.

_She was real._

She was waiting for him.

What was _he_ waiting for? There she was, lovelier than ever he could have dreamed, waiting for _him_.

And the hardest part was over. She knew him—knew how daft he could be, how hopeless.

He didn't think he'd ever felt as hopeless as he did in that moment, not even shackled to the couch by his bum leg.

God, what was he _doing?_ His tardiness was already bordering on inexcusable.

But it was as if his feet were rooted to the spot, and the ambient chatter in the restaurant faded away. All he could hear was his own shaky breathing.

His chest was becoming too tight.

Is this what an anxiety attack felt like? There was no use considering the symptoms—all his brain could summon was an image of his flatmate, expression wrinkled with professional concern.

He watched as a waitress approached her with a question, and the woman— _Guinevere,_ he thought—seemed to smile, her cheek curving. The waitress shifted, blocking his view. Leaning out further allowed him a glimpse of the small hand that gestured to the empty seat across from her. The waitress nodded and smiled, saying something shortly before she left.

At last, instinct kicked in.

 _You're about to fall, mate_.

His stool clattered over and he stumbled to his feet, making directly for the door.

Slipping outside and hoping he'd gone unnoticed, Arthur gasped. He hadn't realized how stifling the air inside had been until he got a taste of the fresh night air as cars zipped past.

Maybe he just needed to walk it off?

Still jittery, he paced away from the restaurant a little.

And kept walking.

And walking.

Until he was nearly six blocks away, feeling freer and sicker all the time.

He had no way of knowing, but it must have been at least a quarter of an hour by the time his mobile vibrated in his pocket, making him jump.

It was her.

"Arthur?"

He knew it. She'd bloody seen him, and she was ready to call him out for what he was: a coward.

"Ah, hi."

"Are you running late?" Her voice was soft, and her tone concerned.

Bile stung in the back of his throat.

"Um, well, yes. There's been an emergency," he heard himself say in a remarkably calm voice that could not have been his own.

"Oh, no! Are you okay? Can I do anything to help?"

"No, it's just...work. My father. I promised him...Uh, I have to go and see him. Forgive me, I wish I could've told you sooner."

"Don't worry, I understand. Go to him. Please let me know if there's anything you need."

"Thank you, Guinevere. I'll talk to you later. I'm sorry."

"Take care, Arthur," she wished him sincerely before they hung up.

At last he felt steady, and sure of at least two things: he was the most miserable arsehole to walk the earth, and he didn't deserve her.


End file.
